


The Good Daughter

by DaeMEon



Series: The Good Daughter [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Incest, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaeMEon/pseuds/DaeMEon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how a young Miranda escaped from her father, taking her baby sister, Oriana with her.</p><p>Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming Girl

The skycar started its descent as it approached the suburbs in the southern sprawls of Sydney. These residential areas were no-fly zones, so transport was relegated to traditional ways of ground traffic. 

Miranda Lawson was staring nervously out the window and she started to feel her stomach tighten as they drove through more and more familiar streets in the posh neighbourhood, approaching the luxurious Lawson residence. She was sitting in the back of the limo and glanced at the rear view panel through which the chauffeur could keep an eye on the passenger.

Her eyes met with Niket’s who looked back at her encouragingly as they exchanged silent glances. She was grateful for his help, and it gave her some hope that her only friend whom Henry Lawson did not manage to chase away agreed to help with her crazy plan. He managed to talk his way into being on car duty today, so he could be assigned to pick Miranda up from the airport.

She managed to delay her homecoming to the last possible minute, shuffling her exams at Cambridge around until the flights were full and she could only fly home on her eighteenth birthday. 

It was a miserable, cold and wet January day in England, and a suffocating, humid Summer day here, on the southern hemisphere. Miranda felt like both at the same time – the cold dread of expectation and the breathless heat of unpredictability. She was dreading this trip not just because of Henry Lawson, but because her insane, irreversible plan that she forced herself into, plotting through most of the past year.

Coming up with the plan was easy, it didn’t even make a dent in her scores and didn’t cut into her studying hours, even though she was two years ahead and it started to get really hard. No. The hardest part was making all the arrangements without her father finding out.

The less Niket knew about it, the safer it was for him. The fact that he followed her instructions even without knowing all the details was enough for Miranda to trust him.

The last time she ran away from home, she was sixteen, and her father has been abusing and fucking her for a while. She didn’t get too far that time. She was alone, and wasn’t thinking clearly. She lost her nerve halfway through, and almost turned back several times. It cost her precious time and gave her father’s goons enough opportunity to grab her before she could leave the planet.

The punishment was severe. Thanks to her engineered biology, the marks faded without a trace.

She did learn a lot from that. Only Henry Lawson had this kind of power over her thoughts. Only he could make her resolve weaken. He was the only one who scared her. Now she was not alone, and she thought about failsafes in case she starts to lose her nerve again. There should be no turning back this time. She made sure of it.

Miranda took a deep breath as they passed through the gates of the residence and she shot another nervous glance at Niket. He knew better than to speak. Their arrangement was to presume there were bugs everywhere. So they remained silent. The car stopped at the house, Niket got out and opened her door. Miranda clutched her traveling bag and let a data chit slip from her hand and fall under the seat. She made sure her friend acknowledged the drop before stepping out, slowly exhaling.

She stood there until Niket got her luggage, and even then, it took her a few more long seconds to get herself to move. She shot one last glance at her friend before marching up the steps, feeling that this time they really crossed the point of no return.

Inside the air was well regulated, just the right temperature and humidity. Miranda shivered, not necessarily from the temperature drop. A maid was waiting there, a young girl she didn’t know. She nodded to Miranda and smiled nervously.

“Welcome home, Ms. Lawson,” she said softly, reaching for the luggage swiftly. She seemed eager to get out of here. “Mr. Lawson is in the living room. I’ll take care of this…”

Miranda forced a smile on her face and nodded. Even the maid was abandoning her to her fate. She turned on her heels wordlessly and marched into the living room, her steps gradually becoming more and more hesitant.

Henry was sitting in a huge leather armchair, watching some business channel, while a second screen was showing the markets all over the Systems Alliance space. He didn’t look at Miranda but she knew that he was already aware of her presence.

“Hello, f–daddy,” Miranda said. She hated to call him that, but those were the rules. “I’m home.”  
Henry kept his gaze on the screens, nodding slightly.  
“I see you took your precious time getting on a plane, Miranda,” he said, finally glancing at her. He was already showing his disappointment at her.  
_It only took him five seconds,_ Miranda thought. _And he already knows I was stalling. What else does he know?_ And there it was. That irrational fear that he was reading her mind.

She was so lost in thoughts already, she almost missed his signal, that slight flick of his wrist, motioning her closer. _Here we go,_ she thought, and her heart was already racing.

She already knew what was going to happen and how. She got it down to almost a science, to categorize every gesture, word and the timing. She would walk around the couch and the armchairs to stand in front of him. Not _exactly_ in front of him, but two steps to the left, at arm’s reach, still well in his field of vision, but not blocking his view of the screens.

He would pretend to split his attention between her and the news to establish his disdain and her place in his world, but he wasn’t really watching the TV any more. He would expect her to stand there silently, until he deemed it worthy to speak to her. Seven heartbeats, eight heartbeats, nine…

“I guess I should commend you for finding ways to avoid me until the last minute. You robbed me of two days of–” he reached out with one hand and put it on her naked thigh. “--father-daughter time.”

Miranda shuddered slightly. Henry’s lips twitched. He felt it, too. His palm was rubbing her leg and slipping under her summer skirt. The dresscode was also part of his rules. She had to dress like an eighteen year old girl coming home for a summer vacation.  
“There will be consequences, of course,” he said, staring up at her, while she stood there, silent. “But not right now.”

He squeezed her leg, his palm slipping up to cup her buttock.  
“Right now, be a good daughter and show how much you missed your father,” Henry said, his tone dripping with fake warmth, while his face remained cold and measured. There was anticipation in it, but not the good kind. With a subtle pressure of his palm, he was guiding her forward and down.

Miranda blushed, pressing her lips into a tight, thin line. Humiliation and anger made her cheeks burn, and she was sure Henry picked up on both of them as she reluctantly sunk to her knees in front of him. She did not look up but felt his gaze as she unbuttoned his pants, her stomach already clenching up in knots.

She reached in mechanically to pull out his half-erect penis and started to move her hand, massaging it to life. She had to take a deep breath to fight the disgust before parting her lips and wrapping it around the stiffening cock. She moved her hands and lips fluidly, using her tongue, the taste lingering in her mouth and his musky scent filling her nose.

It was all very automatic, a practiced ritual that she had to endure for years now, bobbing her head, breathing through her nose and trying to make it look as though she didn’t hate it. She knew Henry was not fooled, that he could feel Miranda going through the motions without any enthusiasm, but he didn’t mind. This was just the icebreaker. Both of them knew that in the coming days she would either learn to enjoy it or get coerced into it. Either chemistry or force would wear off her defenses. This time it wasn’t about pleasure, and certainly not hers.

So Miranda kept moving her head, her lips making wet noises as she worked on his hard cock, her hand gripping the base of his shaft, controlling her fear and hatred. She hated him, but she hated that gradually her own body would turn against her. Given enough time and contact, endorphins releasing into her bloodstream, oxycotin levels rising would make her core warm up and her nerves tingle, her lap squirm and her sex moisten, whether she liked it or not. Her engineered genetic perfection just made her too efficient in releasing these hormones as well.

While her mind battled with her body, Henry Lawson was enjoying the show. She dutifully looked up at him as he was getting closer to release, his hand gripping her hair and moving her head up and down along his now slippery, warm erection, and he looked back at her with a mocking, satisfied grin. He saw the arousal on her face, her flushed cheek, her erratic breathing as she squirmed on her knees. And he saw the disgust and hate in her eyes.

Miranda learned to read the signals of his body, feeling exactly how his cock throbbed harder, got stiffer as he reveled in her humiliation, knowing exactly how and when he was turned on even more at the sight, and how he started to stiffen, getting ready to release. His grip tightened in her hair, while the slurping sounds got louder as she couldn’t keep her breathing steady enough and she needed to gasp for air, while the warmth and tingling reached her chest, her nipples, her neck, her head, making her dizzy.

She knew her father thought this was just the beginning of her week-long abuse until she had to return to England, but Miranda got some measure of satisfaction knowing that he wouldn’t have too many chances. Because she was going to leave tomorrow night, and she would take Oriana with her.

Until then, she had to play along. She had to keep up the act, and do nothing to make him suspicious. She could not resist more, she could not fight or refuse him, because that could tip him off. But she could not be too complacent and try to do everything she was told and smile timidly while he took his pleasure just to lull his suspicion. A meek and obedient Miranda would trip Henry’s alarms even quicker. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t deny him. Not now.

Not when it started to feel good. If her body betrayed her, she could at least try to take some pleasure from it. Shameful, squeezing her thighs and rubbing them together, squirming on her heels kind of pleasure, nostril-flaring, ball-cupping pleasure, a desperate, pathetic, gripping his cock tighter kind of pleasure. 

She breathed heavily, drooling over his cock, letting out a nervous moan as he pushed her down, the tip of him hitting the back of her throat, which made her eyes water. Or at least she hoped it was just the gag reflex.

Henry tensed, held her down, his cock throbbing in her hand and mouth and she felt his load as it shot through his shaft. She tensed as the hot, salty mess erupted into her mouth. She quickly swallowed, eyes squeezed shut, relieved that it was over, disappointed that she was left unsatisfied.

She took deep, shuddering breaths, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes and pull away with wet smack of her lips.  
“Yes?” Henry said.  
“Catering called, sir, they will be here in an hour,” a woman’s voice said.

Miranda froze, sinking back onto her heels, shivering. Her ears burned as she recognized Mrs. Ellis’ voice. The old nanny, who took care of her and now was responsible for Oriana stood in the hallway. Miranda didn’t notice her. She might have been standing there the whole time, or just half a minute. It didn’t matter. She saw her kneel between her father’s legs, holding his slowly softening, wetly gleaming dick.

She quickly pulled her hand away and closed her eyes. She could _feel_ her father smirking. She heard him putting his cock away, nudging Miranda’s leg with his foot, letting her know she could stand up.  
“Thank you, Mrs. Ellis,” he said. “You can go now.”

He didn’t address it to anybody in particular. He probably meant both of them. Miranda stood up, took a deep breath, adjusted her disheveled hair, smoothed out her clothes and holding her head high, she strolled out with measured steps, not really caring whether Henry was dismissing her or the nanny.

The nanny just stood there as Miranda passed, following her with a cold, disapproving stare. It made Miranda’s blood boil. Yes, her father had power over her, and she feared him. He beat that into her through the years. His stares could make her cringe, shudder or even cry. But the old, bulky woman had no such effect on Miranda, no matter how hard she tried.

Miranda had to play along, and let Henry take advantage of her, but she was not taking it from Mrs. Ellis. She only had some authority over Miranda until she got big enough and strong enough to be able to defend herself. Ironically, her father made her take self-defense classes and got her the best biotic trainers, so even half her size, the nanny knew that her bossing days were over. Miranda was fourteen at the time, slender and more than a foot smaller, but they understood each other.

They were giving each other the silent treatment ever since, only talking when absolutely necessary, and staying out of each other’s way. Miranda always felt that the nanny disapproved of her only because of an almost religious loyalty to Henry Lawson, since Miranda never behaved like a spoiled, rich daughter, bossing her around. She never had the chance even if she wanted to.

Miranda went straight to her room, locked her door and started throwing off her clothes. She knew her room was probably bugged, and she was not going to give her father the satisfaction to see her throw a tantrum or break down crying. Not any more. The shower was a much better place to hide her rage and despair, when the hot water fogged up every glass and the rush of water masked her frustrated sobs.


	2. Birthday Girl

Miranda took her time in the bathroom, although there was no risk of Henry bothering her for the rest of the day. He was handling the preparations for his annual Australia Day party, which, “coincidentally” marked Miranda’s birthday, too. When you are designed in a lab and conceived in a petri-dish, even your birthday can be precisely timed.

This party was very important for him every year, it had to go off without a hitch. There will be important guests here, increased security, catering staff, even some temporary constructions in the back garden. She pondered trying to slip out with the baby through the crowd and chaos, but there would be too many eyes, and not just the extra guards.

Standing in the middle of her room in a bathrobe, rubbing her hair with a thick, soft towel and staring at the flimsy party dress that was already laid out on her bed—chosen by Henry, no doubt—she thought about the many eyes.

She suddenly stopped rubbing her hair dry, dropping the towel onto a chair as she pulled herself straight, making a decision. With a shrug she let the bathrobe slip from her shoulders, collecting it in the bends of her elbows, and throwing it aside with one smooth move. She stood there, naked, tall, and staring straight ahead.

Straight at the terrace of her first floor room in the corner of the house. It afforded some privacy, and a deckchair with a small table and a parasol. She grabbed a bottle of water and a pair of sunglasses from the vanity desk and strolled out into the scorching, summer sun. She knew the house was getting busier and some people might actually notice her as she gracefully slid into the deckchair, and get a decent view of her, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t actually flaunting her perfect, naked curves and lean body, she didn’t do it for teasing. Just to annoy her father, who was not so keen on anybody getting close to her naked.

She laid there for a long time, occasionally turning over, giving a good view to anyone who was spying. She had no idea if they dared at all, or if they slowed down, running the risk of getting yelled at or fired by Henry Lawson. Whatever happened, her father didn’t make a scene, and there was no commotion. He just had to bite the bullet.

When it became too hot, and she drank all the water, she retreated back into the air-conditioned coolness of her room, took a shower again and reluctantly started to prepare for the party. She took a critical look at the dress her father chose. It was too slutty, more appropriate for a nightclub than a party, with a too deep cut cleavage and an even deeper cut back that almost went down below her waist. Pursing her lips she stood over it for long minutes, clutching her bathrobe around her absently, until she made her decision.

She pulled a matching, dark lace shawl and a bra from her luggage and dug up a French cut pantyhose that came up to her waist, making the outfit modest and alluring at the same time. She would wear the dress, but show the least amount of skin that she could get away with, given her father’s suggestion and the summer heat. It was still pretty eye-catching, but she couldn’t help her anatomy, and it was not like she was prudish. Just self-respecting. She could dress to kill, but now she had to tone it down as much as possible.

She found comfort and relief in taking her time to prepare. She was glad to lock herself in her room like a sullen teenager and stall her entrance until enough guests were around to feel safe from her father. The only thing she regretted, as she slipped into her heels was that she didn’t check on Oriana yet, but she was not ready to bump into Mrs. Ellis or her father just yet.

She made her way down to the hall, where groups were already forming and talking cheerfully. Some brave souls spilled out into the back garden, where the smoke from the barbecue grills were starting to rise despite the heat. 

With measured steps she reached the foot of the stairs. By that time she already gauged the atmosphere, identified the alphas and the satellites of the groups, recognized a lot of the faces—dignitaries, local celebrities, Henry’s business partners on Earth, and a few even from Bekenstein and Noveria—and could guess the topics of discussions.

At eighteen, she could already navigate these complex halls of power, thanks to her very expensive education. Every time she grudgingly had to admit to herself that all her knowledge was courtesy of her father. He constantly reminded her of this fact, but when she was really depressed or just exhausted she tortured herself with it, even without her father’s help.

Right now, as she saw him and their eyes met, it was already there. In the first moment, it was leering, his incestuous urges flashing, that undressing gaze that knew her body too intimately. In the next heartbeat it was the pride of an owner, reminded of his property, his creation. And finally the stern, piercing, bone-chilling disapproval at her choice of dress, and the commanding flash of the eyes, ordering her to his side, where she belonged.

So Miranda took a deep breath and started to gracefully make her way towards him, her resolve fading with every step she took. It was a mistake. Her whole plan was crazy: not only running away from him, which was already irrational in the middle of her studies at the best university on Earth, but _stealing_ his other daughter, too? Maybe she was eighteen now, and legally an adult, but it was still stupid to throw everything away now. Maybe when she got her PhD… or PhDs, then she could get free, even financially. But now…? Yes, maybe she thought about money and safe houses, and escape plans and staying off the grid, but did she think of _everything_?

The closer she got to Henry Lawson, the more her doubts took on the voice and tone of the man.  
“Not exactly the attire I had in mind,” he hissed into her ear when she reached him. They both flashed convincing fake smiles at each other, and she pecked a kiss on his cheek, while he wrapped an arm around her.  
“It made me look like a whore. Nobody is dressed like that. Look around, I’m doing you a favor,” she hissed back, her cheeks already burning. She felt her whole body tremble, just like every time she tried to fight back.  
“Miranda. You remember the Burkes, right?” he said in a warm tone, already turning both of them towards the arriving couple, who just stepped up to them.

And the game was on. It was a play in three Acts, where in the first one she had to stay by his side, never wander too far and help him welcome the guests, and accept the birthday wishes from those who either wanted to suck up to Henry, or the select few, who actually knew Miranda since she was younger.

In Act II, she was allowed to wander and entertain guests, make sure to say a few words to every group as they talked about business, pleasure and gossip, waiting for the blood-red sun to dip behind the Great Divide and reveal the magnificent starry sky, the anticipation building towards the extravagant fireworks.

All the while Miranda scanned the crowd, wondering what her father’s plan was. He had to have one, the next stage of dynasty-building where he would choose the right suitors for her now that she was old enough. It was one thing to have his way with her these past years, but eventually he would have to find a rich, young man for her from an influential family.

All Miranda had to do was to try and anticipate these candidates and vet them herself, and find one who would actually be up to her own, personal standards. They were not all spoiled brats and chauvinist assholes. Some of them were actually smart. A few of them may even be interesting.

She always found herself attracted to strong personalities, rather than status or sex. Smart people turned her on, regardless of their gender. She wondered if that was also part of her genetic programming, if Henry planned her being drawn to women, too, or if it was just a glitch, a side-effect of being smart and liking clever people. Unlikely, but still, it made her wonder, how much of Miranda Lawson was actually _her_. Was there a _real_ Miranda Lawson?

It was an uncomfortable thought, something that she always tried to chase away. She needed no extra stress right now.

She focused on the eligible men—and kept an eye on some women—as she wandered the crowds, feeling trapped between two worlds. She didn’t belong here, didn’t know most of these people personally. And her father made sure that she didn’t have any friends in England either. 

She always suspected that he was behind the sudden offworld scholarship of a certain bioengineering major who got too close to her. She was also the only woman Miranda ever had sex with. Granted, it was after a party and they were both a bit drunk, but god, Kate was smart, sexy and witty—and that was her sin. Guys were not faring too well either, so Miranda learned to stay away from relationships.

When the fireworks started, she found herself alone in the middle of the crowd, standing under the lush canopy of a teak tree, in a philosophical mood. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. She didn’t even visit Oriana since she got back even though her plan was to whisk her away and go on the run. What kind of an escape plan was this? Maybe she was just being selfish. She could have a relatively decent life here, amongst the richest humans on the planet, catch a husband so that her father would stop abusing her—

“Miranda!” Henry’s call broke her from her reverie, making her shiver in the hot, humid summer evening. The fireworks ended, and people started to drift back into the house, the crowd thinning as some were already leaving and saying their goodbyes. Her father waved her over. The way he called her, and stood there told Miranda that he was planning something. 

This was it. Act III. He is going to introduce her to someone he deemed worthy of his Master Plan.

But before that, they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with a handful of people who were leaving. Henry kept a hand touching Miranda’s back, not forcefully, just enough to let her know to stay close to him. Miranda smiled and played the good daughter, saying all the right words to the guests, some of them even true, if she knew them or found them interesting.

Henry lead her into his spacious study, decorated with antique bookshelves and artifacts in a real colonial fashion, complete with huge, winged chairs and tables. Someone was smoking in there, but it was not the thick aroma of a cigar. It must have been someone very important if Henry let him smoke in here, even though one corner of the study did look like a cigar room.

Miranda’s heart sank. She knew who it was, and she didn’t like it one bit. She wasn’t expecting him. Henry Lawson managed to surprise her again. He was just too smart, and too ambitious.

“You remember Jack Harper, don’t you, Miranda?” Henry said leading her in front of him. The man glanced up with those piercing, electric-blue eyes that bore right into her skull.

“Yes, dad,” she said, recalling everything she knew about Henry’s mysterious friend. “I believe the last time we met almost a year ago, at a banquet.”

“Indeed,” Harper said, his gaze searching her. It was unnerving, those faintly glowing, cybernetically enhanced eyes unreadable. “It is lovely to see you again. I trust you… recovered completely?”

“I did, thank you” Miranda nodded. 

More than a year ago she missed a couple of semesters from the university when her father had a new biotic amp implanted in her and she fell into a coma during surgery and almost died. Her body apparently rejected the device and eventually had to be replaced by a newer model. It wreaked havoc with her body and took her many months to heal. She could still feel the lingering effects more than a year later.

She didn’t remember much of that time, going in and out of surgeries, being kept sedated for weeks at a time to avoid damage to her nervous system. It was a blur of pain, panic and bouts of dizziness and nausea. 

Miranda would have thought that her father would be furious for a faulty design almost ruining his perfect creation, but instead Oriana was “born,” in case she didn’t pull through. Henry Lawson only stopped briefly to yell at the amp manufacturers for possibly ruining his multi-million credits investment and he promised to sue them for damages if she died. That was the best she could have gotten from her father: a posthumous lawsuit for property damage. She was barely sixteen at the time.

He was quick to conclude that Miranda was indeed the disappointment he always claimed her to be. It seemed that outside of the bedroom, she couldn’t do anything that made him happy. 

Miranda took it hard, not the least because she was consistently the best student in every school she attended, finishing years before her peers. She could not imagine what else she could have done to satisfy him.

Henry was unnervingly proud when he introduced Miranda to her new “sister”, declaring that maybe the copy will be better than the original. She just barely turned seventeen. Once she got over the shock and the humiliation, she reminded herself that even she wasn’t the first one, only the first one Henry kept. She never dared to think about what happened to the others.

If he wanted her to be jealous of her “sister”, it didn’t work. The only thing he achieved, apart from the shock, was the dread and despair about what he would do to Oriana once she grew up, even if he pampered her and treated her like a princess. The baby may have only been a safety backup, but if Miranda’s life was any indication, Oriana could eventually replace Miranda in Henry’s perverted fantasies, too.

That was when she realized that they both needed to get away from their father.

“Oh, it turned out just fine,” Henry answered quickly, poignantly peeling off Miranda’s shawl and motioning her to sit down next to him on the sofa, absently folding the lacy fabric and putting it aside. Slowly unwrapping his offering to this man his age, if not older. Miranda had enough experience by now to remain unfazed and ignore the gesture. She would fight for her last scrap of dignity.

Harper’s searching eyes never left Miranda.   
“Mmm,” the man nodded thoughtfully, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Those L2 amps don’t seem to be turning out too well.”

Henry snorted. “It’s outrageous, really. They will never work out. Give it a few more years and they will be deemed unsafe. Imagine the outrage. Their stocks will plummet.”

Harper nodded, glancing at Henry briefly.  
“I am banking on it,” he said, turning his attention back to Miranda. “So… no headaches? Aches? Cramps?”

Miranda shook her head. “No, Mr. Harper. I’m perfectly fine now, thank you.”

Henry laughed softly, patting her leg affectionately, leaving his hand on her thigh. 

“Perfectly, indeed!” Miranda froze, the touch so obviously inappropriate that she was shocked he would do it in front of others. For some reason it bothered her even more that he did it in front of Harper. She has only been less than a minute in his company, but Miranda could already read him enough to tell that their guest pretended he didn’t see it.

“Well, I was glad I could provide you with a new prototype series we have been working on,” the man said, puffing on his cigarette and nodding at Henry.

“Ah, yes, yes,” her father nodded, leaning back, one foot on his knee, his arm resting on the back of the sofa. His other hand still on her leg. “Much appreciated.”

Miranda didn’t know too much about Jack Harper’s business. He was quite laconic when it came to discussing his wealth. She would have spared some thought to putting all the bits of information she had about him together, had it not been his father’s hand slipping a bit higher on her thigh, his fingers gently caressing her inner curves. She tried not to squirm, he pretended it was normal, and their guest’s eyes remained unfathomable.

“Henry,” he said in an overly friendly tone. “It was the least I could do for such a generous donor to our cause.”

“I owe you a thank you, then, Mr. Harper,” Miranda said after her father gently squeezed her thigh. She wasn’t sure if he did it to make her thank him, but it was a good moment to get out of the silent decoration role and talk a bit. She hoped it would also stop Henry from going any further with his fondling in front of their guest.

“I didn’t know you were in the business of biotic technology, Mr. Harper,” Miranda said, trying to keep her voice steady and her face straight. If it was anybody else caressing her like this, she might have even enjoyed it, but as it were, she tried to ignore it.

“That’s right, Miranda,” her father chimed in. “Mr. Harper here has his eyes and hands on the latest technologies humanity needs to stay ahead of all those aliens.”

Miranda almost winced. Henry was never quiet about his xenophobia, but usually he wasn’t bragging about it. He was either drunk or he could speak more freely in this company. 

“I am invested in many enterprises, my dear. We are working on a new model that we will introduce on the market when the L2s will inevitably fail. Our research facility have been producing promising results so far. Your amp, for example.”

“That’s right. Jack here is quite the visionary, Miranda,” Henry boasted, while their guest watched them indifferently. 

There was no way he didn’t see what was going on there. Her father was practically showing off her body to him, playing the matchmaker in both directions. Either way, this was a bizarre meat market, where she was the product.

Now that he had Oriana, it would even make sense for Henry to trade her off to this obviously very influential man for favors, or as investment.

As the two men started to talk galactic politics she tried to hide her newly rising despair, while she considered his megalomaniacal plans. But of course it would make sense. How many rich, old men pranced around with a girl half their age on their arms? It wouldn’t be below Henry Lawson to sell her off like this.

Miranda could only hope that she would have time to make her escape before her father made the deal with this man.   
At one point, Henry’s hand moved to the nape of her neck, fidgeting with her hair, stroking her neck gently. It was already making her squirm a bit, while they kept on talking, as if it was perfectly normal for a father to be this intimate with his daughter.

Miranda felt she was lucky that there were still guests around, otherwise Henry might have eventually undressed her right there just to show Harper the goods and maybe make her suck them off. The worst thing was that she would have probably done it, and not just to keep up the facade of the good daughter. Henry had that effect on her. Sooner or later her glands and hormones would win over her mind and she would just give in.

And now she could not get the image out of her mind.

All the while, Jack Harper was watching, unreadable and quiet, listening to Henry Lawson go on about aliens, humanity’s place in the galaxy, their survival and interstellar power struggles. Their guest was always quick to reply, explaining galactic politics and economics in measured, well-phrased sentences. Miranda tried very hard to focus on the discussion. It could prove useful, especially on the run. It also helped her ignore Henry’s hands and slow down the effects it had on her.

She wasn’t following galactic politics lately, just listening to it on the news and storing the information raw and unfiltered in her mind. She was too busy planning her escape to bother with turians, asari and the Citadel. She knew enough of the interstellar events to follow the discussion. She knew all the names and factions, but she lacked some important contexts to figure out who was right. Or less wrong than the others.

So when Harper, and not Henry, tried to include her in the discussion she could at least answer without coming off as a dumb bimbo. It seemed there was much that Henry and Harper agreed on, so Miranda was careful to form opposing views, while trying not to agree with everything they said. She politely avoided forming an opinion, excusing herself with her studies but offering a few observations. 

At first she thought her father would be frustrated that their guest sidelined him, but his touch remained gentle on her shoulder… and her thigh. He was smiling wisely, probably satisfied that Harper was interested in her. His plan seemed to be working.

The hardest part was to ignore his hands and answer without her voice faltering. She just sat on the sofa, legs neatly—and tightly—crossed, her hands resting in her lap, pretending very hard that everything was normal, and Harper seemed to be content with listening to her words and not reveling in the blatant display of her father. Or maybe he was. He seemed too smart not to pick up on what Henry was offering to him. What if those electric eyes were already undressing her, trying to picture her naked, appraising her value in whatever negotiations he and her father were having.

It could have been sexy. It could have been hot to restrain herself while getting horny, caught between two men. Her body was starting to feel it, a slight blush reaching her cheeks, a tiny pressure in her loins and her breasts, not quite bubbling onto the surface, because it also felt wrong.

She had no idea how long she could keep it up before turning into a whimpering mess right in front of them, losing her remaining dignity. It was too confusing, wanting at least some pleasure out of this, while still unsure what Henry Lawson’s plan was. She wasn’t going to figure it out from Jack Harper’s eyes either.

The relief finally came when someone from the staff peeked his head in and signalled to Henry.  
“Sir. The last guests are leaving.”  
‘I’ll be right there,” he said, squeezing Miranda’s leg and shoulders. “Excuse me, my friend. I have to say goodbye to the guests. It’s getting late. Maybe we should continue this at breakfast.”

“Of course, Henry. You’ve got duties as a host. Please. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Henry nodded and put his hand on Miranda’s, patting it lightly. “My daughter will show you to your room.” He squeezed her wrist, harder than necessary, which made her look up into his eyes. He glared straight at her, for one painful second his gaze pierced her skull, right into her mind. “I believe you will find everything is prepared,” he said. He still addressed their guest but was staring firmly at Miranda.

The next second the squeeze was gone and he stood up smoothly, smiling at both of them.  
“If you’ll excuse me–”  
And with that he was out, shooting a stern glance back at her from the door as a reminder, and then she was alone with their quiet guest.


	3. Good Girl

Miranda took a deep breath, collecting herself and stood up.  
“Please, Mr. Harper. This way,” she said in her best hostess voice, motioning with her hand.

The man nodded and followed her to the stairs. She could feel his gaze on her back, the deep cut dress designed to draw the eyes to the right places. Just like Miranda herself. A pretty doll in a pretty dress, heels clicking on the floor, hips swaying enticingly even if she didn’t want it to.

She reluctantly had to admit that it excited her a bit. She did enough research to know how formative these experiences were to the human psyche. Isolated from friends, taken advantage by a much older father figure, she was pretty much screwed. It was probably too late for her now to escape undamaged. The chances of having a romantic life that resembled any kind of normalcy were already slim. She should just give up and try to enjoy this. Her father and Harper were old, but they would take care of her. She could live a rich life, albeit in a golden cage. 

She wobbled as she took a wrong step at the top of the stairs, her thoughts jolting back to the present. No. She had to go through with her plan. For Oriana’s sake.

“Everything all right?” Jack Harper asked, surprisingly close to her ear. He was also touching her arm, making sure she won’t fall.

“I’m fine, thank you. Maybe I drank one glass too many,” she smiled faintly. Had she known what was waiting for her at the end of the night, she would have drank way more.

“I see,” he said. Even his tone was so calculated that Miranda didn’t know if he was being skeptical or greedy.

They reached the room on the top floor and Miranda opened the door. She had to remind herself not to stay outside and motion the guest in, but go in first this time, like a real estate agent selling a home… or, in this case, herself.

“This is the quietest room in the house, and the view is beautiful,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage, waving to the floor-to-ceiling windows making up the western wall. She winced at the choice of her words, expecting an appropriate remark, but Harper just hummed, looking around slowly. “There’s a separate bathroom,” she added a bit uncertainly.

She glanced at his luggage that the staff put in one corner neatly, and the bottles of drinks on the table. Henry would probably get Harper’s favorite brand. The bottle of Balvenie confirmed Miranda’s suspicion that Jack Harper was indeed a Scotch man. Next to it, in an ice bucket was a bottle of Clarendon Hill Cabernet Sauvignon, Miranda’s favorite wine.

The sight of it made her blush. She knew she should have been angry, but it was her own fault that she kept underestimating her father. 

She wondered what else she was supposed to say. She was never good at small talk… or talking, in general. And she was certainly not experienced in the art of seduction. She turned around to face Harper, momentarily at a loss for words. Harper walked over to the table and the large armchair next to it, passing Miranda. She turned again, feeling awkward spinning around like an imbecile.  
“Cabernet Sauvignon. An excellent choice,” Harper said, checking the wine bottle. He glanced at Miranda. “Vintage 2150. I believe it is for you.”

He held the bottle up and raised an eyebrow. Miranda took a deep breath and nodded. She might as well get drunk.

The man picked up an old style corkscrew and proceeded to open the wine with practiced ease. Miranda tried to stand there as gracefully as she could manage, watching him pop the cork and pour her a glass of the red wine. He held it out for her quietly and it took Miranda another second to react, taking one hasty step forward before reminding herself that this was not a race. She tried to save her decorum by moving calmly the rest of the way and reaching for the glass in a very measured way.

“Thank you,” she said with a polite smile and held the glass quietly, waiting for him.

“I must admit, at first I thought Henry was just promoting you so I would recruit you for my organization,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. He opened the bottle of Scotch and poured himself a glass. He sat down and motioned to Miranda with his drink to have a seat, too. Since there was no other chair in the room, it meant sitting down at the edge of the bed.

Miranda thought about this while she sipped into the wine, savoring the rich taste that always helped her calm down and wondered why she didn’t think of that. Then again, her father was quite obviously groping her in the study. Sne might be forgiven for thinking only about sex in such a situation.

“Well, subtlety is not Henry’s strong suits,” she muttered, tasting the wine again to hide her nervousness.

“Henry?” Harper remarked with a faint smile.

Miranda blushed again. If she was going to cover her expressions with the glass every time she makes a blunder, she will be drunk very quickly. This wasn’t going well. If she puts off Harper with her attitude, there will be hell to pay tomorrow, and she couldn’t afford that now.

“It’s all right,” Harper said, seeing her suffering. “It helps to distance oneself from the—unpleasant memories.”

“It’s not that bad,” she shrugged, avoiding his gaze that she felt on her skin. “He just wants me to be the best…”

Harper hummed thoughtfully. It wasn’t surprising that Harper was observant, and apparently he drew the right conclusions from their small talk at her father’s study. However, she didn’t want to make the situation worse, so she kept quiet.

“How much do you know about my organization?”

Miranda started to feel like a teenager, who was being tested. Again. To be fair, she was still in her teens and every moment of her life was indeed a test. It was just frustrating to always be on alert. She was scared of her father, but she was afraid of disappointing Harper, even though there were no signs that he would hurt her in any way. All that was missing was a bit of sulking like a highschooler, which would just have made her look even stupider. She had to start acting like the smart girl.

“I don’t follow my father’s business activities, Mr. Harper,” she said finally, trying to sound polite. She went for the safe route, parroting her father’s words: “It would be a distraction from my studies.”

Harper nodded.  
“Soon it will be time to start looking at your career options. We do indeed look for talent.”

“Unfortunately, that is not up to me,” she said, hiding the bitterness from her tone, downing the rest of the wine unceremoniously.

Harper lifted the bottle readily, looking at her. She nodded, held out her glass and focused only on the red juice filling it.

“But that’s not why we’re here,” Harper said matter-of-factly.

“No,” she agreed, waiting for the buzz of alcohol to finally start kicking in. It wasn’t that easy with her metabolism.

“And this is the first time you are doing this,” he said, more of an observation than a question. He seemed to be evaluating everything, analyzing the smallest gestures, and read her like an open book.

Miranda nodded.

“Are you afraid of me?”  
“No,” she replied maybe too quickly, and a bit sharper than she intended to. She was only afraid of Henry. Harper may seem menacing with those glowing eyes, but she didn’t feel threatened. She found herself actually feeling safer here. She wasn’t nervous any more, just frustrated that it had to be this way. How crude.

“Good,” he said, downing the rest of his whisky and stood up, walking up to her and taking her empty glass. “You shouldn’t be.”

“I know,” she whispered. Somehow she knew, and after two quick glasses of wine she felt confident enough to say so.

Harper put the glass down on the table and stood in front of her.  
He nodded towards the door, “Do you want to leave, Miranda?”

She did. She knew she should. “My father would be disappointed,” she said, shaking her head,his closeness making her tense.

“You could tell him whatever you want to, you know,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder gently.

 _Were it so easy._ Miranda looked at the hand, so old and firm. All kinds of alarms rang in her head, but the wine started to drown them out.  
“It’s all right,” she said finally and looked up at him steadily. “I want this,” she added with growing confidence. 

To hell with Henry. To hell with Jack Harper, too. She might as well try to regain some control and enjoy this. Her hand trembled slightly as she rested a palm on the man’s crotch, locking her gaze with his. Harper was smiling faintly and Miranda knew he caught that moment when she made her decision. His amusement made her shudder, his stare still unnerving. He didn’t believe her, but he still let her go on.

She opened his pants before her resolve faltered, pulling his cock free. She flinched just a tiny bit, very much self-aware of his attention, and his well-proportioned erection. Pressure was building in her chest. It was embarrassing her a bit, but she felt excitement. She felt she needed to please him and not just to earn his approval. Or maybe to earn it but for herself, and not for him.

His shaft grew harder in her grip, his scent already filling her nostrils. She licked her lips in anticipation, massaging him gently. She felt a pang of worry about his size, but she quickly shut it out and wrapped her red lips around the warm, throbbing tip. Exhaling through her nose she slowly started to bob her head, mirroring the moves of her hand, meeting halfway when she felt him in the back of her throat.

She still couldn’t look away from those electric eyes, and she could only imagine the view Harper was having. His friend’s eighteen year old daughter looking up at him with big eyes, brows arching, her dark, neat locks of hair framing her pale face, a slight blush on her cheeks, red lips gliding along his shaft with tiny wet noises, sucking him off. 

Miranda felt the heat in her cheeks rising, managing to close her eyes, finally able to tear away from Jack Harper’s stern gaze. She worked her hands and mouth smoothly, lubricating him, feeling up his shape and size, getting him ready for her. She also felt her head starting to buzz and her chest tightening, and she squeezed her thighs close when the tingling sensation reached her lap, too.

Before Harper could tell her, or do it himself, she lifted her free hand to the straps of her dress and started to peel it off her shoulders. She opened her eyes again, looking up at him in what she hoped was defiance, but it was hard to sell it while she was still wrapping her lips around his cock and starting to feel aroused as well. The amused half-smile on his face told her that he wasn’t buying it either.

The dress slipped down and crumpled into her lap, revealing her delicate bra and shapely torso. She pulled her mouth away with a wet smack, taking a loud breath and licking her lips while glaring up at him, still gripping the base of his shaft.

“I think you will find my body quite pleasing,” she said in a faux lush tone. She was trying to stay angry at him for not stopping her, for letting her do this and apparently enjoying it. Maybe he was just amused at her clumsy attempts at being a seductress and trying to guilt-trip him while this was obviously having an effect on her, too. “The best genetic engineers worked on it,” she added with slightly less edge in her voice.

She did find it at least slightly exciting, the inappropriateness and that she was pleasing a very influential man, someone more than twice her age. She twirled her tongue around the tip of him, his taste lingering on her lips and tongue and smoothly took her in her mouth again with a long intake of breath, inhaling him and taking him deeper, pressing his warm, hard cock into the back of her throat.

It felt right. Only powerful men deserved her body. If she was destined to be a fucktoy, a trading chip between her father and somebody else, she shouldn’t be sold short. She only deserved the best. She sucked him deeper, fighting the gag reflex now, her sullenness giving way to some sort of desperation along the way. She let out a muffled moan, her voice vibrating through his shaft, opening her mouth a bit wider to ease the pressure, wanting to take his full length but failing.

She fumbled with her bra, unclasping it anxiously. Maybe if she wrapped an arm under her breasts, pushing them up a bit and caressing one full round of flesh, nipples hardening, he would come faster—

She was aware of her moaning, trying to be vulgar, just to let him know that this was not lust born of adoration, but merely a transaction.

“Miranda,” he was saying. She realized it was not the first time, she heard the noise before, but was too occupied with her task and fighting the tingle in her lap and the almost sore tightness of her nipples. She surfaced for air, panting softly, mouth gaping open, hot breath washing over his throbbing cock. She looked up at him with foggy eyes, trying to focus.

Harper reached down, still smiling while her hand still absently massaged his slippery wet cock. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her head, thumb next to her ear, palm pressing under it. He gave her the slightest nudge, the notion of a pull and she rose to her feet automatically, still holding onto his cock.

Miranda felt a fresh wave of nervousness and shivered slightly as she looked into his eyes from up close. The scent of tobacco and whiskey reached her nose. She waited, feeling the dress slip down her legs and pool around her heels.

She knew she was pretty good with her mouth, she had plenty of time practicing whether she liked it or not. The rest however always consisted of Henry pinning her down and fucking her crudely for his own pleasure. She felt nervous, oddly worried that Harper might not find her experienced enough.

“Exquisite,” the man murmured.

A shiver ran down Miranda’s spine. His other hand was already roaming the shape of her body, from her hip, along her waist up to her ribs. With a flick of his wrist, hand still cupping the back of her head he turned her around.

She shuffled on her heels, clad only in the French cut pantyhose and panties, her breasts bouncing softly. His arm was now wrapped around her neck, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder. He pulled her back against his body, his throbbing shaft slipped between her thighs, his other palm caressed her torso, cupping a feel of her full breasts. 

She held her breath and leaned against him. It was ironic, how swiftly she lost the initiative. She felt trapped, the warm flesh between her thighs and his palm cupping her breast messing with her mind, the firm squeeze making her gasp, the pinch of her nipple making her twitch breathlessly.

Harper’s hand slid down over her quivering belly and stopped above her waistline just to feel her body react. She arched her back, pushing her ass against his lap, her tummy pressed into his palm. Her thighs squeezed and trapped his hot, stiff cock between them. 

That finally made Harper react, too. He let out a soft grunt when the firm, warm legs clenched around his erection, and Miranda enjoyed another few seconds of control while she rubbed her lean body against him. It felt lewd, the age difference somehow more prominent with him than with her father. It was wrong for different reasons, but this time it was exciting.

She drew another sharp breath that morphed into a whimper when his hand slipped into her panties and purposefully crawled between her legs to probe her smooth, soft mound.

“Delightful,” he growled into her ear, his hand still wrapped around her chest and neck, holding her steady. And she needed it, because her short-lived advantage was fading. Grinding her round, firm ass against his crotch bought her a few seconds, but as soon as his fingertips reached her cleft and pressed against her sensitive flesh, she was almost undone. She moaned, her knees buckled and her body jerked in his hold. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy, trying to take deep breaths that somehow all came out as whimpers.

For a clear second she mused about how pathetic she was, surrendering in mere minutes at the first gentle touches from a man more than twice her age, who was clearly taking advantage of her. She might have tried to fight it but his finger was already gliding between her slippery moist folds, probing her flesh. Before she could gather her wits, she felt her flesh spread, a wet finger flicking her clit, and she was gone. Crying out in surprise she felt her lap explode, hotness spreading through her crotch and a shiver up her spine. 

She froze for a few heartbeats, forgetting to breathe, legs weakening. It took her a few more seconds to clear her thoughts enough to figure out what was happening. Harper held her firmly, his fingers massaged her skull, his thumb stroke her cheek, while his other hand relentlessly rubbed her soaked sex in firm circles, determined to stretch out her pleasure.

She felt cheap, climaxing without him even penetrating her. An easy, horny teenager, not used to such tenderness. There was a nagging thought for a flash of a second, and then she couldn’t be bothered again because she was panting loudly and grinding her lap against his hands, on the way to the next crest.

She didn’t have enough time to recover. His finger barely slipped inside her when she felt the next wave wash over her while she was still struggling with the aftershocks of the first orgasm. There was another breathless cry, another set of spasms, throaty moans and wet noises between her legs, her underwear soiled by her overflowing pleasure. She was gripping his arm around her chest with both hands, eyes closed and silently begging him to fuck her.

He pulled his hand from her panties and she expected to be shoved down onto the bed and mounted, but he just pulled down her pantyhose and panties, letting them trap her knees. She felt a gentle push in the small of her back and she was bent over, gripping the bedsheets for support.

His hand was back over her mound from behind, a finger pushing inside her tightness smoothly. She tried to keep her eyes open and look back at him over her shoulder, but it was so intense, she needed to hold onto the bed. She felt the finger move around, slide deep and twirl and twist around, probing, stretching. She would have found it a bit crude if she could be bothered, how he was basically loosening her like a mechanic lubricating an instrument that he was going to use. She didn’t care. She needed his cock.

“Please,” she whispered hoarsely, the first of many times during the night, the need to feel him inside her overwhelming. “Please—”

She felt him pull out, not daring to look back at him, but she could imagine the view of her backside, more pronounced and round when bent forward, legs trapped together at the knee. She spread her arms a bit for support, crumpling the bedsheets into her fists. She prepared for what was coming, trying to relax against the inevitable pain, fighting her nervous tension.

“Very delicate,” Harper remarked in a low voice while his hand gripped her buttock and sank his fingers into her tight flesh to stretch her cheeks apart.

Miranda held her breath, her hands tensing, gritting her teeth and fighting back a whimper when she felt the touch of his tip against her sensitive folds. She tensed despite her best efforts, her neediness fighting with the fear of pain, and gasped in surprise when she felt him slip inside smoothly, slowly plowing deeper, the discomfort of the stretch bearable. She couldn’t hold back a moan. Her breath hitched as he started to move smoothly, her walls tugged when he pulled back, her surprised intakes of breath in sync with his cock pulling and her moaning sighs when he pushed in.

Within a few slow strokes she found herself clutching the bed with a whole different tension and there she went again, twitching, her inner muscles clenching around him. It was almost embarrassing how easily he tipped her over again. She was not used to it and it was showing. She was whimpering almost comically as she came off the high again, her body bouncing to his rhythm.

“Perfect,” Harper growled, not faring much better, losing control at the sensation of Miranda’s body gripping him, and the sight of her squirming body under her. She was uncharacteristically pride of herself that she managed to have this effect on him.

Miranda could feel the same kind of neediness rising in him like in her father when he was forcing himself on her. It was usually unpleasant, but this time though she was already well prepared, relaxed and way past caring if it would be uncomfortable. She kind of wished he would get a bit rougher. Preferably before the pleasant haze that clouded her mind went away.

Suddenly she was aware of a throbbing emptiness. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw Harper meticulously peeling his clothes off. Jacket first, tie, unbuttoning his shirt, his gleaming electric eyes locked on her.

Miranda knelt on the bed and got rid of her underwear and heels, waiting anxiously for him to finish, uncertain about what was expected of her.

Harper eventually finished undressing and with a slight grunt of disapproval he got hold of her hips and turned her over to her back, laying her out on the bed.

“Perfect indeed,” he whispered as his gaze roamed all over her nakedness. His hands rested on her knees as he parted her legs and observed his prize.

When he climbed over her, Miranda held her breath again, searching Harper’s face, anticipation and a hint of fear in her gestures, wondering how she made him disappointed and if he were going to make her pay. Instead he simply lowered himself on her, guiding his cock inside her and started to steadily rock her into oblivion.

Miranda was quickly losing focus again, as if the shape and size that stretched and filled her was removing every thought from her mind. His cock was becoming her world, her body his sheath, his presence above her radiating an intense heat.

She sobbed in pleasure when he tipped her over again. She was getting exhausted from the intense spasms, her arms and legs splayed wide on the bed, offering her body to him even as her mind started to drift away in a cloud of pleasure.

The rest of the night was a blur. She was overwhelmed, spent and disoriented for most of the time. His stamina was impressive, able to get him ready again after spending his load on her. It was probably enhanced biology and cybernetics, but she didn’t really care. She was also quick to recover, and tried to gauge his reactions. It felt really awkward, and more than once she cringed, still a bit afraid that he would lash out when she seemed to disappoint him somehow.

He took her once more, spending time and attention on her neglected breasts, kneading, rubbing, massaging it, licking her nipples which seemed to have established direct links with her brain and her sex. He obviously reveled in the sight of her, and by the end he could do anything he wanted to her. She was just a boneless heap of exhausted pleasure, melting into his arms. He could flip her over, pull her into his lap, and all she could do was cling to his neck with her remaining strength, bouncing like a ragdoll on his cock.

When they finally finished, she was burying her face into his neck, crying out hoarsely as she rode out her last orgasm and felt his throbbing cock squirt his hot load inside her overly sensitive, almost sore tunnel. He was kneeling on his heels and she was straddling him, hot and bothered, her breasts squeezed flat between them, her chest heaving. She was trembling, feeling used like a plaything, just an exotic toy for his amusement, and she was fine with it.

Even then, he gently lowered her onto the bed, arranged her trembling limbs, pulling out of her slowly with a wet pop, leaving the memory of him still throbbing inside her. She wanted to say something, prove that she was worth it, that she was not just a fucktoy, although she would be fine with that, too, if he wanted that. She thought it was important to somehow make him understand, but she was just too out of breath, her mind too jumbled to form coherent thoughts.

He settled in next to her, not cuddling, but watching her. Watching her like a trophy, sprawled out in front of him, a prize that he could run his hands over to enjoy. It felt good, and she smiled at him tiredly. He was saying something that she couldn’t make out, drifting off to sleep already. It was something about her body, reminding her of her perfection and artificiality. She was still treated as a curious experiment and property, but at least she was admired and she even felt pride.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face, under the watchful, electric eyes of this strange, sophisticated man, who seemed to regard her like a piece of art. Hopefully like a classic statue.


	4. Bad Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The necessary evil chapter. Please bear with me. It all has its purpose.  
> Feel free to skip if distracting.

When Miranda woke up, it was already a bright day outside. Much brighter than she would have expected. Her head was throbbing, probably the alcohol and the dehydration teaming up for revenge. A dangerous combination after an exhausting night. She must have slept like a rock, because she was alone in the bed and didn’t remember when Jack Harper left her side. She was still in the guestroom. She turned away from the window, noticing a shadow sitting in the armchair. She smiled faintly and blinked a few times to clear her vision.

Her smile froze, her face quickly turning serious. She reached for the blankets she was half-covered with and clutched it in front of her.  
“D-dad! What are you–?”  
“What did you say to him?!” Henry snarled. He was glaring daggers at her. He must have been sitting there for a while now, watching her sleep. It was an unnerving thought.  
“What?” she mumbled and shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

“What did you say to Harper? What did you do?” her father hissed.  
“I-I don’t… what are you talking about?”

“You must have fucked up something!” he snapped, almost jumping up from the chair and stepped closer to the bed. “You pissed him off somehow. I know it!”

Miranda sat up, still holding the blanket in front of her chest, and shook her head fiercely.  
“I didn’t do any—”

She didn’t think he would actually hit her. Usually he needed more than this. As her head snapped to the side and her cheek started to sting, she started to realize it was very serious this time.

“He left early morning! Before I even woke up!” Henry yelled at her. “He said he had urgent business to attend to.”

Miranda shrugged, rubbing her cheek.  
“So?”

“Tell me what happened!” her father demanded.

“Didn’t you watch it on your spycams?” she snapped back before she could stop herself. She hid her surprise over her outburst with a frown and an indignant stare.

Henry just laughed bitterly. “You don’t spy on the head of Cerberus.” He said, his expression turning cold quickly. “Now. Tell me what happened. Did you fuck him?”

Miranda was going to tell him what he needed to know, just to get this over with as quickly as possible, so she could start preparing their escape. She knew that was the smart thing to do. The moment he asked that last question, however, she felt something snap inside her. There was a pang of hurt in her chest that made her look up at him with her lips pressed thin. Henry didn’t seem to notice anything.

“Well, it would be more accurate to say that _he_ fucked _me_ , father,” she sneered. Before she even realized what she did, her father struck again. This time she fell over, hissing as she rubbed her cheek again, trying to sit up in the middle of the bed while the blanket started to slip off her torso.

“Don’t give me this fucking attitude!” Henry snarled. “Tell me what happened, you ungrateful little cunt!”

“He got me good and drunk and then I sucked him off,” she said with an even more defiant tone, now openly taunting him. She still cupped her cheek, but she was already sitting again. Henry’s eyes flashed again and he backhanded her.

This time she was expecting it, and she remained upright, but her head snapped, his knuckles leaving a more lasting pain behind. She almost laughed out, touching the corner of her lips carefully. She tasted blood on the inside of her cheeks.

“He fingered me. He fucked me from behind like a little bitch,” she went on, not even trying to hide her contempt, hellbent on mocking him further. “I came, like, three times. More than I ever came with y–”

He saw this sentence coming, slapping her again before she could finish. Miranda just grimaced, giving up touching her face every time he struck her. Her ears were ringing, her cheeks burned from the slaps and she could imagine they were turning pink, too. She licked her lips with a bloody tongue, looking up at him through the tussled curtain of dark hair.

Inside she was aghast at herself for her behaviour. Shock and panic clashed in her head, making her chest hurt. Her sense of danger was rising, bursting, but she could not prevent herself from talking and sneering and glaring back at him.

“Then he turned me on my back and fucked me raw in the middle of the bed. Right here,” she hissed, slapping the bed fiercely. “He fucked my brains out, Henry. He fucked me until I couldn’t move. It was the best sex I ever–”

The slap was faster and stronger this time, her father snarling as he hit her. Miranda gasped from the impact, trying to hide the pain, her neck straining as it snapped to the side again. She caught a glimpse of something in Henry Lawson’s eye, which set off alarms in her head. _You went too far! Too far!_ she thought, even her inner voice panicking. Something in that stare was worrying.

The force of the slap let the blanket slip off her chest finally, leaving her topless in front of her father. She still lifted her head, her eyes filling with tears, her ears still ringing. She shook her head to clear the loose locks from her eyes and stare at him again.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, panic rising, and still she couldn’t stop herself from going on.

“The best sex I ever had!” she sneered. Her father was staring down at her, almost incredulously, as if hesitating, trying to comprehend what she was saying. Miranda hammered on, while something screamed in her head to stop. _You’ll ruin everything! Your plan! Your escape!_ “How does it feel, father? How does it feel to know that an old man fucked your teenage daughter senseless on her birthday?”

“Enough!” Henry hissed, hitting her again. It seemed he couldn’t stop either.

Miranda was almost laughing, brushing her hair back from her face with a hand, looking up at him defiantly, her back straight, looking proud in her half-nakedness. She _owned_ that bed. It was her throne, like an exotic queen in those classic period movies. “He came on me at least twice… I think… I don’t know, I was pretty out of it by then. His cock… hnnnghh…” she moaned, as if trying to express her feelings, the pleasure. She even grimaced and made a gesture.

“Stop it, you worthless cunt! You little–”

“What’s the matter, daddy?” she laughed. She felt exhilarated, couldn’t stop it, but close behind this facade was sheer panic and desperation. If the mask would fall, she was worried she would break. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Your friend fucking your daughter? Aren’t you happy with me, _daddy_? Amy I not your good little whore–?”

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed, hitting her again, this time on her temple with his fist that knocked her back hard on the bed. She felt the sharp pain and the immediate dizziness and disorientation that came with it. Spread out on the bed she could not defend from the next one, this time only an open palm that still made her head jerk to the other side hard.

She let out a painful grunt, trying feebly to lift her arms, but her father was on top of her, grabbing her hair roughly in one fist and slapping her over and over, back and forth with his other hand.  
“Ungrateful… fuckin… ungrateful… cunt… useless… ruining… my… plans… you worthless whore…” Henry Lawson snarled on between slaps, going way past after Miranda gave up fighting and sobbed in pain.

She must have lost thirty seconds somewhere, because it felt like she didn’t even put up a fight. Maybe it was defiance, showing him that she was beyond his crude methods and she didn’t care what he did to her. Or maybe it was a paralyzing fear, a realization that she went so far that this time her father noticed something was not right.

It didn’t matter though. Her cheeks were stinging, burning, eyes fogged up with tears of pain, and the panic gripped her chest so hard that she was hyperventilating. All she could do was whimper, trying to move her hands and head, the sounds coming to her like she was underwater.

She felt Henry’s weight lifting from her stomach and the blanket yanked off her. She was lying under him dazed and naked, the world spinning and the stinging pain making her thoughts muddled.

Henry was asking something with a fierce tone that she could not make out and then he squeezed down on her mound hard. She cried out, her legs twitching, another slap to her face before she could clear her thoughts, a warning to keep her legs apart. She yelped again, when his knee sank roughly into her thigh as he forced himself between her legs.

And then came the familiar pain that always took her breath away and made her whimper, that dull pressure, that chafing stretch. She was unprepared, as always and he was too eager, not hard yet. It just made it more painful until he pushed inside and then started a frantic humping.

By that time, all combativeness left Miranda. She felt drained by last night and her father’s assault and she could only sob quietly and grimace in pain until he was firmly inside her. She tried to stay quiet, groaning only when he was too rough, her face turned away, staring at the wall through her tears and lying passively.

It seemed to actually stimulate him, his moves becoming short and rapid, his heavy breathing and the spanking of his lap against her crotch the only noise in the room. He gripped her full breast in a rough squeeze, using her tortured flesh for support until he hammered into her. He gasped, froze, flooded her with his hot seed, gasped again and collapsed on top of her breathlessly.

 _It’s over! Thank god!_ she thought in her jumbled mind, her head still buzzing with all the different pains clashing in her head, her skin and flesh burning or sore.

Henry only needed a minute to catch his breath before he pushed himself up and pulled out of her which made Miranda sigh in relief. She remained still, closed her eyes to squeeze out the remaining tears and to clear her mind.

“I will have to go and talk to Harper. Today,” Henry muttered while he stood up and adjusted his clothes. She took a shuddering breath, staying still on the bed, not even moving to curl up into a ball. “I have to sort out this mess and make sure he is not mad.”

Miranda didn’t respond. She knew Harper wasn’t mad at her, but she wasn’t saying anything.

“But don’t think we are finished, Miranda,” he snarled and before she could realize what was happening, he already grabbed her by her hair and started to drag her off the bed. “It’s time we refresh some of the lessons you should have learned.”

Miranda yelped, grabbing his wrist before he could tear off her scalp, her legs kicking in panic to find some footing and stand up, but the bedsheets tangled around her feet and made her fall down unceremoniously from the bed. She growled, grit her teeth in pain, trying to cry out and say something while her father started marching off, pulling her naked, squirming body on the floor with the bedsheet in tow.

“I don’t know where you got this attitude, but if you talked back to Jack like this, I understand why he left,” he snarled, storming down the hallway.

Miranda screamed, more in frustration than pain, the humiliation of being dragged like this just making her struggle more. She barely noticed Henry shoving a maid out of his way before they reached his bedroom and he kicked the door open and started to storm in.

“No!” she screamed, throwing herself around. “Not there! Please…”

As soon as they were inside, panic hit her. The effect was sudden, even her voice gone. The scents, the colours, the furniture, the lights—

All those memories flooded her in an instant. The first time he took her in here, more than two years ago. The way he coerced her out of her clothes while she was just as paralyzed as right now. She wept quietly then.

Now he threw her against the bed. She hit the floor with a grunt, her unruly hair dangling in front of her face. She crawled on her belly, a bewildered expression on her face as she searched only for escape, none of the fire or awareness left in her. Naked and disheveled she tried to crawl away like a critter.

Her mind was reeling before Henry grabbed her hair again and lifted her onto her knees, tilting her head back and snarled into her face.

“Not so snarky now, huh, Miranda?” he hissed, slapping her.

“D-daddy… please…” she whispered. Anything just to get out of here, even though she knew punishment was inevitable. She knew the pain was coming and no amount of begging would help, but she pleaded anyway.

He threw her onto his large, pillar bed, because of course he had one. A king sized, antique ornamented one, with sturdy columns. With loops and hooks and cuffs.

She fell face down in the middle of the bed, the memory of his previous invasion still fresh between her legs, her skin still damp, and he was already on her again. She just stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused, motionless while he grabbed her hands and cuffed her wrists. The cold touch of the leather triggered even more memories, the painful stretch, the tightness, the numb fingers, the rhythmic strain every time he—

Miranda cried out when she felt the tug on her wrists. Henry’s bedroom was well equipped for his perversions. She knew she wasn’t the only one to “enjoy” his antiques, but most of the other women—of whom there weren’t many—at least liked this kind of play.

But she hated it. She hated it, because Henry would go on until her body gave in, usually not long before her mind.

She was shaking and realized that she actually made a whimpering noise and pleading with him.

“Daddy… please, don’t… I-ah-I’ll be good… I promise…” she whispered, looking at him over her shoulder while he dragged her onto her knees on the middle of the bed and cuffed her hands above her head to the roof of the bed. She knew he wanted to hear these words and she would try anything.

“Oh, suddenly Miranda is a good girl?” he snarled, his arousal evident from his voice. He started fondling her roughly, shuffling behind her. “A good daughter, huh?”

His hand ran along her spine, tracing the curve of her ass, dipping between her legs, slapping her inner thighs to make her part her knees a bit more.

“Y-yes… daddy…” Miranda whimpered. She felt sick. She hated the word, she hated the smells, that disgusting hand all over her. Something that could have been pleasant, erotic was—

He slapped her. He actually slapped her between her legs, on her sensitive mound, making her cry out in surprise.  
“Please!”

It was no use. She knew whatever she said, however she pleaded would only fuel him on and make him—

She screamed, the sharp stings of the leather straps licking her back, curling around her ribs and biting into the soft side of her breast. Her subconscious knew what was coming before her rational mind could process: a barrage of flogging, like he used to do, that would go on until she was thrashing around the way he wanted to. So she kept on screaming even when she wanted to stay quiet and take it with more dignity.

She lost all sense of time, the stinging sensation covering her whole back. She wheezed for air, her throat already feeling sore. Before she could catch her breath a little, he struck between her legs with the flogger this time, her inner thighs and even over her sex. That made her jerk violently, her voice rising again. 

Cold sweat started to form on her reddening skin. She could hear him breathe quicker, but not from exhaustion. She knew how much he enjoyed seeing her like this—strung up, her muscles bunched into the tight, lean curves he wanted to, rolling on her back, making her waist leaner, her ass rounder with her buttocks clenched, knees apart in just the right angle. It was his ritual.

He was probably starting to work up a sweat from the exercise and started to undress, his crotch already bulging. It was always the same. As he got turned on, he started to ramble about her body, her role, his wisdom, his philosophy. How the red marks were to remind her of her place. How he will cover her whole body so she could see… and how he would make them come out again once they faded. At least that’s how it used to go. Goading her, talking her head full of her own humiliation. 

But not today. His strikes were harder, the bite of the leather straps sharper, spreading deeper than the skin.

Miranda hung her head, still holding herself up, but getting exhausted. She still felt sore between her legs, and though the million-needle tingling on her back was fading, the pain started to cloud her mind, amplified by that shivering that she couldn’t control either.

Henry walked around, enjoying the view, watching Miranda’s chest heave, her perfect breasts rising and falling, taut and rounded out with her arms above her head. She wanted to glare daggers at him, but all she could do was look pleadingly and let out a whimper.

“Please…”

He started hitting again, this time from the front, in a deliberate and well-practiced pattern aimed at causing the largest possible discomfort and stinging pain in all the most sensitive spots. He used to go on about how he loved to see her flesh ripple, how the patterns of criss-crossed red marks brought out the real daughter he wanted. He knew every inch of her body, and knew how hard to hit and where to tip her over that deep, dragging slope that turned the sharp, uniform pain into unwanted pleasure. 

It was just chemistry. The right dosage of adrenaline, stimulating the nerve-endings just right so the endorphin levels would rise and create a fast-spreading cocktail that bypassed her mind, built up her body’s arousal and betray her until her head swimmed in a dizzying vortex of just the right amount of pain and pleasure. That was the only time when she was really his, when she couldn’t resist, when she did everything that she was told and fuck him, fuck anything, any way he wanted to.

But not today.  
“Please…” she whimpered, her head feeling heavy. She wanted to rub against something to ease the burning sensation, feeling like her skin was peeling away. It was only pain, drawing her into a cocoon, her whole torso wrapped in fire, sweat, tears, saliva and maybe some blood mixing on her damp skin. “Please…”

“Tell me! Did you talk back to him?! Did you?! Were you disrespectful?!” Every question a shouted command, a hard swish of the flogger between her legs that made her find some reserve strength and arch her back, tense, and scream.

“N-no! I swear! I-I didn’t…”

Another barrage of licking, biting leather on her thighs and sex. There must have been some blood now, or maybe just urine…

“Don’t fucking lie to me!”

“Aaah! S-stop! Yes… uh… I-I did!” she sobbed. She would have said anything just to have him stop.

Her reply only made him angrier and the barrage continued until her voice became hoarse, and strength ran out from her legs and back.

“Yes… please… yes…” she mumbled. She didn’t even know what was the question.

She was panting heavily, hanging her head, covered in welts and cold sweat, choking with tears. She realized Henry was speaking to her, angrier now that she didn’t answer. She felt a sharp yank on her hair as he lifted her face. A hard slap on her cheek shocked her mind back in gear and she tried to focus her eyes and attention on him. 

What was she saying?

“Did he really fuck you?” Henry was asking, shaking her head that only made her whimper.   
“Yes…”  
“You are not lying to me, are you, Miranda?”  
“N-no… daddy…”  
“How many times?”  
“Three… at least… three…” Miranda mumbled. 

She wanted it to end. She didn’t care how this sounded like, how he acted like a pimp and how she was just a glorified escort to him. Her body was shivering, she felt a few muscles twitch from the strain, she could feel some cuts bleeding, where the skin got tight with swelling. Nothing that wouldn’t fade with time. Especially with her genes.

He was still going on. “I don’t see any bruises or marks. Were you not good enough for him?” He was shaking her head again and she needed another slap to come out of it with a gasp.

“He fucked me… please… he fucked me… I was a good girl… I was, please… he fucked me…”

She was rambling and he let her go on, searching her face. She was not human to him. This wasn’t his usual game of humiliating her until she let him do anything with her. She was already broken. This was not necessary. 

He lifted her head by her hair again, cupping her cheek with his other hand, stroking her almost gently.

“I guess I’ll have to believe you,” he snarled, looking at her tear-streaked face, eyes red cheeks wet. “There is my Miranda,” he purred.

She moaned while he stood up, his hand slipping under her chin and his cock was already rubbing off on her face.

“Make amends, then, child,” he growled and Miranda looked up at him with a relieved sob. She parted her lips and took him in her mouth with a soft whimper and a shuddering sigh. She didn’t care about his pleasure, his taste, the shape and size. Working from instinct she sucked and licked and kissed, buying herself time to recover, let the pains fade and her strength return.

This was all her fault. She goaded him into flipping out, and she misjudged the impact it had on his dignity. She made him angrier than ever before. She was reckless, jeopardizing her plans. 

A year of planning going down the drain in less than 12 hours, and she deserved it. It was over.

She couldn’t breathe. She was choking, the musky taste filling her mouth and pressing against the back of her throat. She tried to open her mouth wider, wheeze, expel the invader that wanted to stretch her throat, cut her air off completely.

It was a game: holding her down until she was spasming from the gag reflex and the lack of air, let her surface for air and then pull her back down. He let up a bit, then pushed her down again. And again. But she already told him everything! What else does he want? Her life?! And again.

She blacked out for a few seconds, waking up with a shock, her wrists straining as they now held all her weight. She was drooling onto her chest and the bed, her vision blurry. Where was he? What was he up to?

She tried to listen, but her mind was fuzzy, she was dizzy, the world distant, underwater.

She felt strong hands grab her from behind, fingers sinking into firm, round flesh. Oh, how he loved her ass. He always gave special attention—

Miranda found she could scream again. It was feeble, but more miserable, painful sounding, a hoarse cry. She felt like she was split in half, his stiff cock ripping into her from behind. She was worried something would rip as he pushed slow, but deep into her ass. She thrashed around, unable to control her reflexes and not clench her muscles around his cock. The pain was excruciating, and she felt it too clearly as he moved, every inch, deep, impossibly, while she couldn’t move her legs.

He gripped her breasts then, sunk his fingers deep into her delicate flesh, as he loved to maul them, and leaned over her, panting obscenely into her ear as he started moving. She tried to give up, to pass out, anything to make it stop, but it was still a long way to go.

Whenever she finally started to lose consciousness, there was a shock that brought her back. A bite on her neck, a pinch on her nipples. A piercing pain, something in her mouth that she had to bite down on. Sharp, clawing pains on her back, whipped again. And the unbearable pressure and stiffness that kept her impaled, wobbling slightly on her chains, pounded into oblivion.

Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onwards to the conclusion. The rest is smut-free.


	5. Runaway Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The great escape.

When Miranda woke up, it was already late afternoon. The lights were flat and turning amber, coming from a different angle, leaving the bed in a pleasant shade. The awakening was slow, like crawling out of a swamp, wading through the murky waters of her subconscious into the waking world.

She was curled up on the bed, alone, her exposed skin cold. He didn’t even cover her once he was done. At least he uncuffed her before leaving. She should be grateful for that.

She felt sore all over. Her skin was still crawling, her limbs numb from the strain and lying motionless for who knows how many hours. She felt her thighs stick together and she didn’t bother to check where else might be more than oily, drying sweat clinging to her.

She felt broken, chewed up and spit out. She was tired beyond anything. She could just lie here for hours. It was time to give up.

For years she has been on edge, always struggling, aware, fighting her uphill battles at the schools and at home. This last year was especially tough. She felt herself getting weaker, the recovery from the surgeries really taking their toll. She was at the end of her wit and this was her final push. She screwed it up. Now she could finally rest.

Time passed slowly, and she just laid there, motionless, watching the shadows crawl in the room and the tones turn orange.

Henry will be home any time now, tell her how it’s going to be, how he arranged everything with Harper, and then she could finally stop worrying. It was naive to think that she could save Oriana when she couldn’t save herself—

 _Oriana_.

She should at least go and see her. After a year of careful planning and watching her every move, to stay in control she even avoided checking up on her. Now she could just go to her sister and say she was sorry. Say goodbye. Maybe a few years from now—

Miranda moaned in despair and tried to turn away from the sight of the room. It was painful to move, her whole side tingling and numb, muscles cramped and protesting. As she awkwardly turned, she felt filthy, sticky with sweat and who knows what else. 

She felt disgusted. Disgusted with herself for being used and tossed away like a whore, and behaving like a slut, so wantonly enjoying her night with Harper, and disgusted with how she goaded her father into abusing her again. 

She must have been wanting this. Somewhere deep inside she needed to be broken, to be reminded of her place. It must have been the reason, otherwise she would have been smart enough to keep her mouth shut. If she couldn’t do that, if she could be reduced to… this, what chance did she have with her plan?

None. _This_ was inevitable.

It was getting darker outside, the tones slowly shifting to blue, a pale, dispersed glow, and she was still a mess in the middle of his bed.

She needed to move, get to the bathroom, get some relief from the pressures inside her and at least try to wash away some of the filth that stuck to her body. At least from the outside.

She sat up slowly, her hand already trembling as she pushed herself up. It was an effort to crawl to the edge of the bed, let her legs dangle and then pull herself standing. She had to cling to one of the bedpillars, taking a few deep breaths until she could risk putting her full weight on her legs. Her knees almost buckled, her cramped muscles still protesting. Eventually she limped into the bathroom, holding onto anything she could on her way.

She sat down on the toilet, feeling the cool touch soothing on her sensitive thighs and buttocks and took her time relieving herself. Another short struggle and she climbed under the shower. She opened the taps with trembling hands and then gasped in shock as the cold water hit, her skin still sensitive in some places. She hugged herself until it got warmer. As the temperature rose and she could feel getting cleaner, she started to take deep, shuddering breaths while she carefully started to run her hands over her body avoiding the bruises and cuts, rubbing off her father’s every trace.

Her wet hair started to stuck to her skull, a few locks lumped together where Henry probably wiped himself dry. She felt the pressure building in her chest, her breathing becoming laboured. She felt she was going to hyperventilate. She looked down again, water streaking down her legs, pooling around her feet.

As she anxiously started to rub herself, her thighs and between her legs, she felt the burning, dull pain in her flesh. It was blood, washed away, the water darkening as she desperately cleaned herself, causing more pain. She knew it was not that bad, that it was only the water giving it more volume, but she was already panicking.

Even if there was real damage, ruptures and cuts, she would be in more pain if it were serious. She knew would heal completely, inside and out, but her mind didn’t care. 

She was sobbing now, dropping to her knees and trying to find the wound. It seemed like there was blood everywhere. She slammed the water controls with one hand and the hot water stopped. Ice cold water hit her and made her gasp in shock, her senses returning to normal.

A few more deep breath and her vision cleared as well, and the water washed away the stains. All down the drain.

She pulled herself to her feet and focused her attention to the simple task of getting herself clean. She recalled her biotics training and cleared her mind, exiled all thoughts from her mind while she methodically washed herself off.

She was still walking carefully when she finished and with a few grimaces and hisses she managed to slip into a long, soft bathrobe. It chafed at a few places, but it was bearable. She felt lighter after the shower, but also weak, like something was missing from her body. For the first time in a while, she felt frail.

She found a pair of slippers, stepped into them and still walking carefully she made her way out of that dreaded room. She shuddered in relief, breathing more evenly now. She didn’t bother drying her hair properly, so it looked ruffled, lending her an eerie presence, like a ghost limping along a haunted castle.

It was getting dark outside and the house seemed empty. The staff was probably gone, turned in for the night, only the guards and Mrs. Ellis remaining.

When she reached Oriana’s room, she was hoping the nanny would be gone so she could spend a few quiet minute with her sister and tell her she was sorry. Not that a one-year-old would understand much, but she might just remember her face later.

She opened the door slowly and leaned against the doorframe to peek in. Mrs. Ellis was there, just putting Oriana into her crib, washed and dressed for the night. Miranda’s heart sank. She was afraid she wouldn’t have the courage to come back later, but when the nanny glanced at her, she almost backed away.

There was resentment in that stare, just a brief flick over her shoulder while she tucked in the baby for the night. Miranda just didn’t have the strength in her to challenge the old woman. It didn’t really matter any more.

“It’s late,” Mrs. Ellis said coldly, returning her attention back to Oriana. She switched on the night lights above the crib, tiny LED stars flickered to life, casting a warm, faint light around the baby’s bed.

“I just wanted to see her,” Miranda said. “I didn’t have time before—”

“Yes, you did,” the woman said, watching the little girl blink up at her, sucking on her pacifier. “You just decided to sulk in your room. And then flaunt your body to the whole garden like a slut.”

Miranda blushed. So somebody saw her. Of course. Still, she couldn’t just explain it to Mrs. Ellis why she avoided coming earlier. She never planned to include the nanny in her now defunct escape plan.

“I just—” she started, trying to come up with an excuse. She didn’t know why she tried. The woman saw her kneeling in front of her father when she came home. It was unmistakeable what was going on, and she had the gall to—

“And then you go and whore yourself out to your father’s important guest,” Mrs. Ellis carried on. “Have you no shame?”

The nanny stepped away to the changing table and started to tidy up. She was still not looking at Miranda, but at least she turned away from Oriana, too, so that she could not hear her words. The child’s eyes were glinting, her gaze stuck to the swaying little stars that dangled above her.

Miranda was caught off-guard with the remark. It seemed that the old woman had a serious grudge against her and she was just waiting for the right time to go off on her.

“I did not—”

“And then on top of that, you seemed to have disappointed even him.” She stopped long enough to glare at Miranda. “Did you complain to him about your father? That’s what it was, isn’t it? Trying to seduce him and turn him against your father? Ungrateful child!”

For this last part, she did turn towards Miranda and glared right at her. She threw it out so matter-of-factly, she probably didn’t even think about the impact. Or she did really want to make it hurt.

Miranda was so taken aback that she could only blink in shock, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. The woman was really a fanatic! She believed so much in Henry Lawson that everything that he might have felt for Miranda, Mrs. Ellis felt it tenfold. And since he was rarely proud or happy about Miranda in the last decade of her life, the nanny became a walking manifestation of resentment. Her cluelessness about Miranda’s abuse was staggering.

Despite herself, she felt her eyes watering and her throat tightening. Did Mrs. Ellis realize how vulnerable she was right now? Was she deliberate? As the woman continued on, Miranda started to realize that she had no idea. She was just a stupid, old cultist.

“But don’t worry. Mr. Lawson will sort it out.” She finished folding the dresses, throwing out the dirty nappy, putting away the wipes and toys, and started towards the door to herd Miranda out of the room. “You are such a disappointment, Miranda. Maybe it would be better if you did find yourself someone who tolerates you. Maybe he will then be able to give the attention to little Ori. God knows, she deserves it more than you—”

The nanny was lying on the floor, blood pooling around the back of her head. She stared up at Miranda incredulously, mouth gaping open, trying to say something but either shock or concussion rendered her silent for the moment. She reached out to Miranda, her twitching hand managed to grab hold of her bathrobe and clung to it as if her life depended on it.

Miranda shook her head, the fog lifting from her mind. She was standing over Mrs. Ellis, a broken, bloody vase in her hand. The water spilled on the woman’s face, the flowers scattered around.

Miranda didn’t remember a thing. Long seconds were missing from her memory, but by the way she gritted her teeth so hard that her jaws were hurting, and the faint growling sound she made, she figured she flipped out so bad that she grabbed the first thing she could find and hit the old woman on the head with it. She was still shivering, her heart still hammered in her chest, and she took short, rapid breaths. 

She dropped the broken vase, which landed on the nanny’s legs noiselessly. Her hand hurt. She stared at her palm incredulously. There was a cut across a few fingers and through her palm, not too deep, but bleeding enough.

There was a tug on her bathrobe and she lost her balance, dropping to her knees next to Mrs. Ellis. The woman was still struggling, staring at her in shock, her mouth quivering, having some sort of seizure. She grabbed the collar of the bathrobe and pulled Miranda over.

She fell on top of the nanny, surprised by her strength. She was a bulky old woman, but much sturdier and stronger than she looked. Miranda bared her teeth in a grimace and started to finally push herself away, pressing her hands against the woman’s face and neck.

Mrs. Ellis was not giving up. Miranda couldn’t tell if she was asking for help or trying to fight her. Based on the way her pupils were dilated and how her muscles were twitching, Miranda guessed the woman had a cracked skull and probably more than a concussion.

The woman was trying to form words, her mouth moving silently, her hands not letting Miranda go, just pulling her, pulling her down.

Miranda was pushing back, finding her footing. She knew she had to get away from her slip out of the robe if she was too weak. The old lady might have been stronger than she looked, but even exhausted, Miranda was better.

Only she didn’t want to pull away. The rage was still making her blood rush, her heart hammer, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. And this woman was responsible. She made her do it.

Her hands slipped around the wrinkly throat, the fatty neck, her muscles tightening. She felt her fingers sink into the flesh, the veins, muscles and the larynx twitch in her grip.

“You were supposed to take care of me!” Miranda hissed through gritted teeth, years of bitterness in her voice. “Keep me safe. Make it better! Bearable! Save me from him!” She was sobbing now, her chest bursting from the pent up frustrations. 

She felt Mrs. Ellis struggle under her, the body jerking, either from the brain damage or as a survival instinct, Miranda couldn’t tell. The woman’s hands were still grabbing her bathrobe. One hand reached out and clawed at Miranda’s face, grabbing for her hair, but she easily shook it off with a snarl. “I was just a girl! And you let him hurt me! You dumb, old bitch!”

They struggled wordlessly in the dark room, two shapes twitching on the floor, only the scraping of legs audible. And a baby whimpering.

Miranda snapped her head towards the crib. Oriana was starting to get restless, her hands and legs moving under the blanket. She was just starting up in a tiny voice with the promise of an all-out wailing, like toddlers do. The noise of Miranda hitting Mrs. Ellis probably woke her up, and now she was getting either scared or just cranky. She probably didn’t even see what happened just a few steps from her bed.

Miranda quickly looked down and let go of the nanny’s neck. The woman’s eyes were dull, glazed over, her mouth open and she didn’t move.

She yanked her hands away as if a bee stung her and stumbled off the body, leaving a bloody smear on the skin and on the floor.

Miranda crawled backwards against the crib, taking a few heartbeats to realize it was the cut on her hand that was bleeding. She glared at it surprised, the stinging pain just starting to break through the cloud of adrenaline that got her going this far.

Using her good hand she pulled herself up standing, eyeing the unmoving body of Mrs. Ellis incredulously. She didn’t fully grasp what happened yet, her thoughts still in turmoil.

But there was no time, Oriana was fully awake, looking up at her with wet eyes and her lips pouting.

“Hey, it’s okay, Ori…” Miranda whispered, reaching out to caress her cheek. She quickly pulled her hand back before she bled all over her sister and the crib, and switched hands. “Shhh, it’s all right. All right,” she cooed, forcing a smile on her face, stroking the girl’s cheek.

She could only imagine how she must have looked like to her, a strange woman with a dark bog of hair, like a big, scary witch. It made her laugh bitterly, her eyes fogging up. This was her sister, her clone, actually, and she probably didn’t even recognize her.

“It’s all right, Ori. Okay… Shhh…” she went on, the little girl not yet convinced she should trust her, still whimpering.

Miranda reached out for the wet baby wipes box with her bleeding hand and awkwardly tried to open it up and pull one out. She left a smudge on the box but eventually she managed, trying to wipe her palm and fingers clean, while keeping Oriana calm.

When the baby calmed down enough, Miranda slipped the pacifier back into her mouth and let her suckle on it while she quickly cleaned all the blood from the dresser and wrapped her hand in a small towel.

Now she could quickly look around and take stock of the situation. Mrs. Ellis was lying on the floor, unmoving, a dark pool spreading around her head. The lights were out in the room, outside it was already night. Henry was still out, and there was no telling when he would be back. If he finds out what happened to Mrs. Ellis, not to mention—

She gasped and looked around to check the time, but her omnitool was not on her. She left exact instructions to Niket, who still assumed the plan was in motion. She didn’t have much time.

She looked around and found a bag, zipped it open and desperately threw anything that could be useful into it. Normally she would have had hours to prepare, but—

There was an explosion outside. It was the sign. According to plan, Niket drove a small, rigged cargo truck into the western wall of the compound, making it look like an accident. It would alert the security guards and give her time. Time she didn’t have.

What she also didn’t have, were options.

She threw the bag on her shoulder and carefully scooped Oriana up, holding her against her shoulder, whispering to her soothingly.

“Come on, girl. We’re leaving,” she said softly, stepping over the nanny’s body and slipping out into the corridor. She went straight for the stairs, down to the kitchen, towards the side exit. She could already hear the noises outside, men yelling and talking into their comms, rushing to check the accident.

Miranda’s eyes were darting around, holding Oriana closely, her senses heightened, listening to every noise, watching every movement. She had new determination, and although she had a plan, things changed and she still had to improvise. Her heart was beating fast again, her adrenaline levels on the rise.

She yanked the kitchen door open and rushed out into the small terrace, down the few steps and around the corner—

She almost bumped into one of the guards, who came to check around the house to see if everything else was secure. It was routine, and Miranda knew it but she forgot, and got careless again.

The man jumped, drawing his gun by reflex. Miranda stopped dead in her tracks and stared back.   
“Oh. Ms. Lawson. Everything all right?” the guard asked, looking at her concerned. 

She could imagine the sight he saw: a bewildered girl in bathrobes, her hair tussled, holding a baby, and for all the world looking like an apparition, a ghost in white.

The man knew her, it was his job to keep her family safe, and he had no reason to be suspicious. She doubted that Henry told anybody not to trust her and keep her confined like a prisoner.

“It’s okay. It seems there was an accident on the back roads,” he explained, still staring at her with growing concern. He lifted a hand soothingly while he glanced around. “No need to worry. It may be better if—”

Miranda had no time for this. She was also too strung up to come up with an excuse. They were outside the house already, hopefully far enough from the dampeners that made it impossible to use biotics inside.

She shot her hand forward the second the guard turned his head away, and let loose a burst of crackling energy. She could still feel the effect of the dampening field, making it hard for her to control the ball that shot from her hand, engulfed the man’s chest and shot him skyward.

Miranda let out a groan, a sharp pain shooting through her skull. She didn’t plan to throw the man in the air, not this strong, not this high, but she couldn’t help it. She staggered, clutching Oriana with both hands now, the girl thankfully quiet, either sleeping already or looking around curiously.

Miranda was on the move again, hoping her sister could stay silent until they were safe. She felt her nose starting to bleed, a side-effect of the biotic overcharge. She felt dizzy, but she could keep on running until she reached the bushes near the compound wall.

She quickly glanced back and saw the orange flames flickering on the other side of the huge estate, and the smoke billowing into the darkness. Nobody was following them. She summoned her last reserves and jumped, lifting themselves over the stone wall with the help of small biotic field. They drifted a bit and sank fast on the other side.

Miranda landed hard, her ankle twisting and she fell to her knees with a painful hiss, just barely avoiding falling down. She might not have been able to get up, or worse, Oriana could have gotten hurt.

She moaned, gritting her teeth and crawled forward, slowly rising to her feet and limping to the road that ran not far from the wall. There was no traffic, so she could safely make it across even with her sprained ankle.

On the other side, behind a bush, a car was waiting. She sobbed in relief, hushing Oriana who was stirring again.

Niket did everything she asked him to, and she was so grateful for it, she almost couldn’t contain herself. She let out a shuddering breath, focusing her thoughts and collecting her strength. It was not over yet.

She hobbled around to the driver’s side. She opened the unlocked door and quickly slipped inside, putting Oriana on the passenger seat. The little girl was suckling her pacifier so strong, it started to leave a mark. She was blinking sleepily, her head bobbing as she tried very hard to stay awake amidst all the excitement.

Miranda smiled at her, letting out a soft chuckle as she settled into the seat. She tapped in the ignition code. The engine whirred to life, and the car started to roll forward.

Miranda switched on the hud, kept the floodlights off and relied on the nightvision monitor on the dashboard for staying on the road. She winced as she tried to move her ankle, but she could manage to drive without problems.

They rolled up the road, climbed a hill, and barely two miles away from the Lawson residence, she turned off onto a driveway. She tapped another code and the gate opened. She coasted into a more modest, but still elegant family house and stopped inside the garage. 

Miranda waited until the doors closed and collected Oriana into her arms again. The girl was cranky now, too tired to wake up, too bothered to go to sleep, until Miranda settled her on her shoulder again.

“Sssh, it’s okay. We’re here. We’re safe... “ Miranda muttered and climbed out of the car, wobbling to the kitchen door. She opened it with another code and they were inside. She made her way into the living room and put the sleeping child down onto the huge couch, dropping to her knees painfully to make Oriana comfortable, pulling a blanket over her tiny form.

Miranda sighed, stroking the dark, curly locks as she watched her sister sleep, the exhaustion kicking in.

“It’s okay now. We’re gonna be fine,” she mumbled through her own tears of relief, letting herself relax a bit now that they were inside. “We’re safe…” she sniffed and crawled onto the other couch, feet and hands and knees dirty, her slippers lost somewhere in the garden during her escape.

She lifted her head to look over the back of the couch, and through the huge windows, even with the curtain, she could still see the lights of the fire on the next hill, where the Lawson residence was in turmoil.

Barely two miles from their home, with a good vantage point to spy on her father, Miranda Lawson was finally free of her father, hiding almost out in the open. She glanced back at her sleeping sister and with a soft sigh, she sank back onto the couch, drifting off into exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be concluded...


	6. Goodbye Girl

When Henry Lawson introduced Miranda to her new sister, he was very smug about it. It was as if he was mildly annoyed that she recovered. At least that’s how it looked like to Miranda, who was still feeling weak and strangely at odds with her body.

Maybe it was still that initial confusion, learning to move around again that sent off the vibe to Henry that she was disappointed and jealous when she saw the tiny baby he named Oriana for the first time. He mocked Miranda in a not too subtle way for it, joking about “replacement” and “new and improved model” with “tweaks”.

Miranda’s surprise was real, but the emotions behind it were nothing like what Henry imagined. The man always projected his attitudes, which might have served him exceedingly well in the business world, where the competitors were all sharks like him, but when it came to human emotions, he was often off the mark.

No. Miranda felt dread and shock at the revelation. It took her mere seconds to imagine how Oriana’s life could play out. She considered a lot of scenarios during the following weeks until she was strong enough to return to England to continue her studies. Thankfully, even Henry respected her recovery enough to leave her alone.

Henry would groom Oriana just like he did with Miranda. Maybe he would be nicer to her, spoil her more, treat her better and give her the best life as he imagined it. Maybe he wouldn’t even molest her, or maybe he would “only” treat her nicer while doing so. At best he would groom her to marry her off to somebody to grow his fantasy dynasty.

There was a big party at her father’s house before she left, and then, in the middle of the crowd, she had some time to think. As she watched the crowd, the plan started to form and she made the decision: she would run away with Oriana.

Before she even left for Cambridge, she enlisted Niket’s help, with whom she went to the same high school. He was basically staff at the Lawson estate anyway, helping out his dad at the garage, running errands, tinkering with the cars and acting as a driver when needed. They agreed on a way to keep in touch without Henry finding out, and then she was off to England.

From there, through the proxies Niket set up, she started making arrangements. Niket knew almost nothing about the details, for his own safety as well. He only knew Miranda needed to get away from her father, and the boy could understand that.

Miranda set up dummy accounts, laundered as much money as she could through them to finance her plans without Henry getting suspicious. She contacted adoption agencies, she hacked client lists and searched very patiently for potential parents.

Once she got a picture of how the system worked, she set up a profile for herself and listed Oriana up for adoption. She went through scores of applicants through many agencies, trying to avoid looking too picky. Just the right amount, as anybody would be, who was about to give their child up for adoption.

It was a complicated affair, as the most popular form of adoption was when the mother was still pregnant and would give the child up soon after birth. Later it became more complicated, much more second thoughts on the mother’s side, the adoptive parents preferring to have the child with them as young as possible so the child would get used to them easier.

She almost gave up a couple of times, it was so frustrating. She created accounts in a dozen forums, getting into fake arguments with her alter egos just to get the discussions going, rile people up on all sides of the debates to get a full picture.

Eventually she settled on an agency and a middle-class, middle-aged couple, and started to arrange a meeting. She created a persona for herself that she presented to the agency, with just the right amount of truth and fiction mixed into it. Once she had the negotiations going, she looked for a place, a house for rent near her home. She rented it from an agency for the whole southern summer, for a family of four. She ordered a kitchen and pantry full of supplies, two children’s rooms furnished, one for a toddler, all prepared for the family’s arrival. She blew an enormous amount of money on the rent, but she needed a good place to lay low, arrange the adoption and keep an eye on the Lawson residence. She even asked for a telescope for the elder child, to “study the stars at night”.

It was all a bit risky, renting and paying in advance, before the adoption papers went through the system and everything got approved, but she didn’t have a choice. It would be too late to arrange a hideout if she waited for the green light. If she failed, it wouldn’t have mattered. Besides, she knew she wouldn’t have second thoughts about giving Oriana up. She wanted a normal life for her sister, something that she wouldn’t be able to give her on the run. Very early on she realized that if she really loved Oriana, she would have to let her go and not keep in touch with her. She would have preferred not to know the adopting family, in case Henry manages to capture her, but she needed to be sure that the girl will be in good hands.

Before she left England, she set up a meeting with the agency, and agreed on a date, three days after her birthday. One day from now.

Miranda woke suddenly, sitting up with a gasp and squinting around. It was already morning, the lights sharp, the tinted windows and the curtains filtering them down to a bearable level.

Her head hurt, her ankle throbbed. Her muscles were still sore, and there were the odd aches of the cuts and bruises on her torso that made her move very carefully. She clutched the bathrobe close in front of her chest and looked around.

Oriana was up, sitting in the middle of the huge couch, crying. That’s what woke her up, she realized. She wanted to get up before Oriana so she could make breakfast and prepare for the day. She must have been more exhausted than she thought.

“Hey, Ori. I’m here,” she said softly, turning towards the crying girl and slipping over to pick her up. She could feel that it was high time for a nappy change, so she gathered her in her arms and whispering to her soothingly, she got up to bring her to her room.

Standing up was not so easy, and limping to the room also turned out to be a challenge. She was only half-awake and needed cleaning up as well, but Oriana had to come first. She memorized the layout of the house, so she didn’t waste time searching for the room set up for a baby. She put Oriana on the dresser and set about changing the diaper, while the little girl was mesmerized by her hair, reaching out and touching it while Miranda struggled with the task.

It was awkward, disgusting and smelled awfully. She felt nervous and strangely excited. She realized she was frowning and poking her tongue out as she wiped Oriana clean and dressed her up again. The sense of achievement made her prouder than anything she had done lately, including successfully escaping her father.

She could not stop smiling. Despite all that had happened in the last 24 hours, she felt almost unreasonably happy.

“Come on, let’s eat!” she declared to the baby, picked her up and carried her out to the kitchen.

Oriana was looking around curiously, thoughtfully chewing on her pacifier, her tiny hand reaching out towards everything. This was all new to her as well.

They had some quick breakfast, and then finally she could put her in her crib. As soon as she settled her in and walked out, however, Oriana started to cry. Miranda let out a frustrated groan and went back in, trying to calm her down, get her occupied, but she didn’t want to be left alone.

“I’m a mess, Ori… I’m just going to take a quick shower. I’ll be back… I promise…” she tried, but Oriana was not having any of it.

Miranda finally let out a sigh and picked her up again.   
“Ah, well…” she sighed and limped into the bathroom.

She was dirty and crumpled, her skin was crawling and itching. She peeled Oriana out of her clothes, dropped her bathrobe and stood under the shower. That seemed to please the little girl and she giggled and splashed around until Miranda got rid of the dirt and clotted blood and felt decent again.

She let Oriana splash around and play with a few bathing toys in the shallow water of the shower tray until she took care of her injuries. She found the hair dye in the cabinet and started to apply the blonde colour to her clean, wet locks, while she watched her little sister thoughtfully, trying to imagine herself at this age. She was practically looking at her younger self. How unfair that she could not remember the most trouble-free time of her life.

They toweled down and went back to the living room, refreshed. Miranda didn’t want to go outside, not even to the garden. She wanted the house look still unoccupied, so as not to raise suspicion. 

Still, they had a whole day ahead of them. 

But only one day. Miranda needed some time to prepare for the adoption agency people, but she was worried about getting too attached to an adorable one-year-old, which would jeopardize her plans. She knew it may hurt later, but she pushed these thoughts aside. She could spend the day trying to remain detached and self-conscious, which might have been her plan at one point, but once again she abandoned common sense and decided to be selfish and enjoy one goddamn day in her life.

It was a beautiful day. They played, watched some holos, ate something she cooked, played again, even laughed a little bit. While the little girl napped an hour or so in the morning and some time after lunch, Miranda cleaned up and prepared for the next day. She went through the wardrobes, selecting her clothes carefully, putting just the right amount of disarray everywhere to make it look like people actually lived here. She checked her messages on the home terminal, searched the news for any signs that Henry went public or if the media already got wind of the story, but so far it was quiet. She set up the telescope and aimed it at the Lawson residence, checking on the activities now and then.

If Niket followed her instructions, he would be dropping breadcrumbs all over Sydney, false credit card charges and purchases that would indicate Miranda was desperate to get off the planet. Ideally, she bought herself a day or two.

In the evening, they took another bath, in the tub this time, with bubbles, Oriana enthralled by Miranda’s now blonde locks. More laughs and splashes. They went to sleep in the master bedroom, and not even then did Miranda let herself worry about the next day.

The next morning was much more tense and quiet. Oriana felt it, too, being more cranky than the day before. They ate breakfast and settled down in the living room. While Oriana watched holovids, Miranda packed a bag and prepared everything for the meeting. She spent the rest of the time just watching Oriana listen to the holovids or play with the toys she took from the crib.

Miranda cringed when the doorbell eventually rang. She got up, shot a quick glance at Oriana before she went to the kitchen.

She looked at the security feed to see if the agents were alone.  
“Come on in,” she said into the microphone as she buzzed them in.

She checked herself quickly in the mirror, ruffling her hair a little. She looked very different than two days ago, despite only changing her hair. Her eyes were darker and more sunken, and she only used some simple makeup. She wore a one size too big t-shirt and ripped jeans. She played on her physical attributes when she created this persona, a high-school dropout and former beauty queen who got pregnant by her boyfriend, who left her when he found out about it.

For all intents and purposes she was just a white trash teenage mom, who thought she could raise a baby on her own, but failed. She watched a lot of vids and holo-reality to mimic the behaviours and managed to tone down all class and sophistry that came naturally to her. She needed to be good at this, she had to convince two trained professionals that she had a reason to give up “her” child.

The agents stepped into the kitchen, a simply dressed woman in her mid fifties first, a thirtysomething man after her. They introduced themselves, they all shook hands and filed into the living room.

Oriana was not really interested in them, but she still managed to melt the woman’s heart.

“Oh, Mary, she is beautiful…” she sighed, sitting down next to the child. Miranda smiled faintly, mumbling a thankyou, and she found she didn’t even need to fake her nervousness. She fidgeted a lot and answered all questions with an open expression on her face.

She was in a kind of daze. She sat there, clutching her hands, watching the woman interact with Oriana while the man went through the paperwork with her. They compared birthdates, vaccinations, medical records, legal statements. He was very considerate, soft-speaking and endlessly patient while she thoroughly read through all documents. This was nothing new, she got the papers months in advance to process and go through before making a decision, but she felt compelled to do so again. 

She found it hard to concentrate, frowned a lot, trying to clear her vision and understand the words written on the page. Her memory was exceptional, so even though it seemed like it was in a foreign language, she remembered it from before. It helped her mask her nervousness somewhat. She realized her hands were trembling as she tried to pay attention to what the man was saying.

She noticed the man nodding discreetly to the woman at one point. She knew that was it. The woman sat with them, letting Oriana return to her toys, and looked softly at Miranda.

“This is a lovely home, Mary. Who lives here?”

“Oh, it’s just my boss. They are on a family vacation off-planet. They let me stay here until… this is done.”

“You are their babysitter, correct?”

“It’s just a part-time job. I work in the city.”

“I find it hard that you can’t afford to make a life for you two, dear. You seem like a lovely girl and Oriana is healthy and doesn’t seem to lack anything.”

“I just want a better life for her, is all. I never knew my parents and look how far I got. I jus’ think she has a better chance with real parents, you know.”

“How about her father, Mary?”

“Seeing as how he ran out on us, I wouldn’t trust him to provide us… You can see how Ori would have a better life with that family…”

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet the adopting parents?”

“No, ma’am. It’s better this way, so I won’t make judgements, you know. I-I trust your work…”

The woman seemed touched by Miranda’s words and smiled at her sadly. She put a hand on Miranda’s. She wasn’t expecting human contact, and she was sure the woman could feel her shivers.

“It’s just that you are so lovely, Mary, and you provided to Ori so far. You did a great job! Teenage moms, who give up their child are usually not this responsible and considerate, dear.”

Miranda nodded, looking at Oriana. So she was still too smart compared to the average pregnant teens. She almost laughed at that. But she can’t change her act now and behave all selfishly. So she just sighed and shook her head.

“This is the best thing for Oriana that I can think of, ma’am,” she said, looking at both of them, and she meant it.

There was a long moment of silence, as both of them studied Miranda. They looked at each other and nodded.

“Very well then. We can conclude that you act on your own free will and surrender custody of your daughter, Oriana.” The woman said in a formal tone. “You know there is no going back after this, right? We understand that you can change your mind until the last minute, but it is now. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She spoke to Miranda like she would to a child. Miranda didn’t mind. She nodded quickly.

“Yes, I am.”

“It looks like every paper is in order. We have the samples, the medical records, the legals. Hugh here is an attorney working for us. I just want to make sure you understand everything.”

“I do. I understand everything,” Miranda said, playing the part easily. She knew everything was fine because she double-checked everything weeks in advance, in ways that these people wouldn’t even know about. Still, she felt dull and numb now, so she had to trust that she did her job well before and don’t listen to the doubt nagging at the back of her mind. She could feel her heart beating quickly again.

“This is a formality, Mary, but we need to have this on record, coming directly from you, you understand.” When Miranda nodded, she went on, explaining every document. 

They all signed the release forms and the man started to pack up, while the woman took another glance at Oriana and patted Miranda’s hand again.

“I think you are very brave, Mary and you should be proud how you raised Oriana so far. I can promise you that we will make sure her new family will take good care of her.”

Miranda nodded quickly. She didn’t trust herself to say something. The confidence and warmth the custody agent conveyed was getting to her, even though she knew she had nothing to do with how Oriana turned out so far. She barely saw her sister, maybe spent a few days in her company this past year, but this last day almost made up for that time. Even though she knew she didn’t deserve the praise, it felt good, because she knew she was taking care of her sister’s future.

“Then it is time for us to leave,” the woman said and glanced at Oriana again. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

Miranda watched the girl, too, and nodded.

“We will be in the kitchen.”

Miranda acknowledged the woman leaving, waited until she was outside, then went over and knelt down on the carpet, smiling at Oriana. The girl was sitting on the large leather couch, toys in both hands, shaking them and clapping them together, suckling thoughtfully on her pacifier.

“Hey, Ori,” Miranda whispered and smiled at her. Her sister glanced at her and stopped everything, as if she could comprehend what was happening. “Hey, sis. I need you to go with these nice people, okay? They will take you to your daddy and mommy, you see. I can’t stay with you, but you’ll be all right, you understand?

“I don’t think you do, but it’s okay. It’s better if you don’t remember me. I just want you to remember this: whatever happens from now on, you’ll be fine. You’ll have a nice home, real parents and a normal life. Okay?

“I know this is silly. Of course you don’t get it now. And if I did my job right, you don’t ever have to. Just be good for me, okay? Hmm? Can you do that? Be a good girl?”

Oriana has been watching her intently. She blinked a few times, the pacifier moving in her mouth, the toys forgotten, but it was clear she was listening to her voice more than her words. Maybe she couldn’t understand them but she could tell that it was important.

The next second she stretched out her arms and leaned forward, wanting to climb onto Miranda and cling to her neck. Miranda was speechless, her throat clenching. It was probably just a simple reaction of a child needing a hug or wanting some attention, or maybe she was just tired and wanted to be picked up.

Whatever it was, Miranda collected her in her arms and held her, blinking rapidly to get rid of the moisture that suddenly clouded her vision. Oriana rested her head on Miranda’s shoulder and continued to chew on the pacifier while she sniffed and took a shuddering breath before standing up.

She went out into the kitchen, where the agents were waiting patiently.

“Hey, Ori. This nice lady will take you now, okay? Come on, go to her…” Miranda said, peeling the girl off her neck, struggling with her tears and trying to keep her voice steady.

Oriana was used to having more people around her, not just the nanny, but the rest of the staff well. This woman might just be her new nanny for all she knew. She reluctantly twisted her little body to cling to the woman before she let Miranda go with her legs.

“Hello, dear, look at you!” the woman cooed. “I’m Clara. I’m going to take you to mommy and daddy, okay?”

Miranda couldn’t watch, so she just picked up the backpack she prepared with some toys, clothes and blankets, and some food for the road.

“She seems tired,” she whispered to the man. “She might just fall asleep on the road.”

The man smiled and nodded, taking the backpack from her, and they all filed out into the yard, to the agency car waiting for them. The woman was very good at keeping Oriana’s attention so the girl was not afraid. She made tiny noises, her way of saying she was tired now.

The woman put her in the baby seat and buckled her in safely, while the man sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the engine.

All the while Miranda was standing a few steps back, clutching her hands together, chewing her lips and frowning, trying to control her emotions. The woman turned back towards her and their eyes met.

There were no need for more words to be exchanged. Everything was there in the woman’s eyes, encouragement, reassurance and a bit of sadness. Miranda was sure her eyes were also telling everything the woman needed to know.

Clara smiled, Miranda smiled back weakly. The woman nodded and blinked slowly.

“Everything will be all right,” she said softly and sat in, next to Oriana, and closed the door.

Miranda winced, but stayed still.

The car started to roll, and Miranda tapped the panel that opened the gate. She watched them back out into the street, still not moving, not even waving, just watching. Then the car lurched forward and disappeared out of sight, the gates starting to close again, and she stood there, alone, in the empty yard of the empty house.

That was when the first sob erupted from her throat and she had to clutch her chest. She quickly stumbled back into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her before collapsing onto the floor on her knees and letting it all out. She didn’t have to hold back any more, she could weep openly, curled up and letting the sobs shake her body, releasing the tension that felt like a crushing weight on her chest. It was good to let it all out. She needed that.

She lost track of time again, lying on the floor, sniffing and crying until she was just too tired to go on. She watched the lights reflecting on the tiles, her eyes unfocused, light twinkling in the teardrops that stuck to her eyelashes. She felt weightless, and just as empty inside as this house. Just as fake as everything she constructed around herself.

She did it. She made it, stole Oriana away from Henry and found her a family that would love her and where she would be raised like any other normal child in the world. She was free of her father’s abuse, the perverted fantasies, the cuffs, the floggings, the primal urges that betrayed her. There was no more pretending, no living according to other’s desires and doing what she was told, and no schools where she could be the best at everything and still feel like dirt.

All this rolled off her shoulders on this day, and she was free to go out into the world and live her own life.

And yet, it was not why she was crying. It wasn’t relief, it wasn’t happiness. It was loss. Even though she barely knew her little sister, even though she was only one years old and spent a few days together, the last year of her life, Oriana was all that was on Miranda’s mind. It was an imaginary relationship, only existing in Miranda’s head, the big sister that she will never know about, spending a lot of time thinking about her. And now she was gone and it felt like her chest was ripped out of her. It was irrational and yet made sense.

Once again, Miranda found the day has passed while she was curled up and lost in her mind, and it was late afternoon by the time she had the willpower to get up from the floor.

She got up reluctantly, her muscles cramped again. She leaned onto the counter while she half-heartedly fired up the terminal in the kitchen, just to check if the custody agents reached their destination. The trackers she planted on the car and the bag showed everything was fine, Oriana was already on her way from the care center to the adopting family.

She turned off the terminal and dragged herself into the living room, dropping on the couch and fell asleep again.

She spent the next few days haunting the house, going through the motions of forcing some food into her system that she tried to keep down with little success, lying in beds in different rooms and occasionally checking the reports and her messages for signs of trouble.

Eventually she found the strength to shake off her apathy, and collect her thoughts enough to start living and acting again. At first, she had to clean up the mess. There were clothes and food everywhere, trash and quite a few broken items. She must have had a fit at some point and took it out on the furniture.

Cleaning up gave her enough focus, and as order was restored in the house, and her mind cleared again. She was able to think and care about what she should do next. She went through every room thoroughly, using up all the cleaning material, running the washing machines and vacuum-cleaners and every appliance on the house to get rid of DNA evidence that she was here as best as possible.

She wasted at week feeling sorry for herself, but at least she was still free and her father was not yet on her trail. She had three more weeks on the rent, but she decided she didn’t want to push her luck.

She took stock of her funds and resources and browsed the extranet for ways to slip off Earth and get far away from Henry Lawson’s influence.

After a few days of organizing and assessing, she finally made her decision.

She grabbed a small suitcase, put some clothes and food in it, did a last wipe on the rooms and climbed into the car that got her away from home. She backed out onto the street, turned the nose of the car towards Sydney and drove off without looking back, a fresh determination setting her face into a firm mask.

She needed to find this Jack Harper and somehow convince him to let her join his infamous Cerberus organization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of notes to send off this story into the interwebs:
> 
> Whoever is interested, the math of the Lawson sisters’ is: The wiki only mentions the year, so I worked with that. Thus, Miranda was born on January 26, 2150, Oriana in December 2166.


End file.
